


Something Old, Something New

by Setari



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Daredevil (TV), Deadpool - All Media Types, Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Amazing Spider-Man (Movies - Webb), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Age Difference, All the Villains, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Amorality, Awesome Frigga, Because Asgard, Blind Character, Brainwashing, Breaking the Fourth Wall, Bruce Banner Has Issues, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Canon-Typical Violence, Charles and Erik Cameo, Darcy Lewis is Tony Stark's Daughter, Deadpool Thought Boxes, Deadpool's scars, Family Feels, Gratuitous Quotes, HBIC Darcy Lewis, Happy Ending, Heteronormativity, High Fantasy, Hulk Smash, Infinity Gems, Injured Nick Fury, Jarvis (Iron Man movies) is a Good Bro, Kidnapping, Loki Needs a Hug, Magical Artifacts, Magical Tattoos, Minor Glorification of PTSD, Minor Jane Foster/Thor, Multi, Natasha Romanov Is Not A Robot, Nick Fury Gets A Hug, Not Really Character Death, Odin dies, Odin's A+ Parenting, POV Multiple, Parent Tony Stark, Parent-Child Relationship, Past Bucky Barnes/Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers, Past Character Death, Phil Coulson Has the Patience of a Saint, Rampant Sexism in Asgard, Sam Wilson Cameo, Smartass Family, Sneaky Nick Fury, Tags Are Hard, Telepathic Bond, Thanos dies, Thanos is a Warlord, Thanos is the Worst, The Aether (Marvel), The Other dies, The Sceptre (Marvel), The Tesseract (Marvel), Thor Feels, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Triad Verse, Vengeful Tony Stark, Wade Has Issues, Wanda Maximoff Cameo, Weddings, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-13
Updated: 2015-10-13
Packaged: 2018-04-23 21:03:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 131,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4892152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Setari/pseuds/Setari
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was just supposed to be a political marriage to reaffirm a new alliance. That was all. High King Tony was not expecting his marriage to his old friend Pepper and the unknown second son of Asgard’s royal house to start a chain of disasters that threatened not just his Kingdom and his people, but his own children, but that was exactly what happened. The death of a close ally, a secret coup, and the kidnapping of Tony’s son and a friend’s daughter are just the beginning. His daughter starts causing trouble in Asgard with one of his Dukes and a dead man, his castle has a crush, and his ally’s best soldier goes missing. Not to mention the God-King behind it all has a collection of legendary magical artefacts that hold enough power to bring down Empires with a thought. Tony’s pretty sure he can handle it. Probably. Maybe. …He might need some help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In Which There Is A Wedding

**Author's Note:**

> Art by [tiedtothemast](http://archiveofourown.org/users/tiedtothemast/pseuds/tiedtothemast), who is also on [tumblr](http://tiedtothemast.tumblr.com/).
> 
> You can find me on [tumblr](http://setaripendragon.tumblr.com/), too.

“Tony, you’re going to be late.” Pepper’s voice cut through the thick hum of magic in the air and jolted Tony out of the angles and calculations of his latest project. For a moment, he felt blissfully calm and ready for whatever duties Pepper had lined up for him. Then he remembered that he wasn’t at home in Barzilai Castle, with ordinary matters of state to handle. No, he was currently a guest in the newly excavated mountain halls of the Asgardian Empire, there to negotiate a treaty with Emperor Odin for the various new trade options that had sprung up between them with the tunnels through the mountains finally complete.

The Northern Mountains had, for most of Tony’s life, been the edge of the known world. The heights of the peaks were such that even the best mages warded against the cold still found themselves losing strength and passing out long before they reached the summit. The valleys were few and far between, and still so high that they were passable maybe one week of every year, spending the rest of the time blocked off with ice and snow and howling winds.

Then, only a decade or so ago, a small exploratory party from a kingdom beyond the mountains had managed to make their way through and forced the edges of Ferronia’s maps to expand. There wasn’t just one kingdom beyond the mountains, but many, all of them under the rule of the Imperial House of Asgard.

At first, it had been purely academic, the knowledge of these other places, since there was no reliable passage between Ferronia and Asgard. Communication between the two countries had been spotty, but Tony’s curiosity had been peaked and he had gathered a team of mages to tunnel through the mountains so that they might have a chance to explore Asgard properly. As it turned out, Asgard had had the same idea, and one day, Tony’s mages had blasted through into cavernous halls that were in the process of being refined and decorated.

And here they were, a year and a half later, finally ready to sign the treaty and be done with this ridiculous political mess. Except.

The memory of the latest proposal that had been delivered from the Asgardian royal family swam in Tony’s mind and he drew a jagged line through the rough calculations for his spell when his hand clenched angrily around his pen. All the details had been settled through a series of tedious meetings over the last eighteen months, and yet, right before they were due to sign, Emperor Odin had decided to casually toss in a _marriage clause_. Without so much as a by your leave, he had written out – or had someone write out for him – some very specific conditions of how this treaty should be sealed by the union of their two Houses.

“Tony?” Pepper called again, more impatiently this time, and Tony tamped down his anger as much as he could and pulled himself out of his own head. He found Pepper standing at his shoulder, dressed to the nines in a bell-sleeved, floor-length gown of dove grey and soft blue, edged and embroidered in silver, pale ginger hair done up in an elegant, twisting chignon, and a blandly polite smile fixed in place already. She looked impeccable, as was appropriate for a High Duchess and one of the King’s most valued advisors attending a meeting with foreign dignitaries. “You have… five minutes to prepare yourself for the meeting or you’re going to be late.” Pepper continued once his eyes had returned to her face.

“What do you think I’ve been trying to do?” Tony retorted, looking back down at his calculations. “If I walk into that hall as I am, I’m going to do something stupid like attempt to punch an Emperor in his stupid, smug face.”

Pepper sighed a sympathetic, yet deeply long-suffering sigh and put a hand on Tony’s shoulder. “I don’t think he knows why it’s so offensive.” She pointed out as Tony leaned into the touch and tried not to wish for more.

“That makes it _worse_.” Tony retorted, flailing his hands in the air angrily.

Pepper squeezed his shoulder, and then her hand retreated. “Well, either way, you’re going to step into that hall and you’re going to explain to him, one point at a time, why you will not be accepting that particular clause. And remember not to make any suggestions until he’s either retracted the proposal, or rephrased it.” She warned.

“Yeah, I know, Pep.” Tony agreed, hauling himself out of his chair and onto his feet. “Am I presentable?” He asked, spreading his arms for Pepper’s approval.

She studied him, eyes tracking over the lines of his gold-accented red doublet, off-white tunic, dark breeches and fancy boots. “You have ink on your cuff.” She informed him. “And you’re missing your crown.”

Tony looked down at his cuff, pulled a face at the dark stain on the hem of the sleeve, and did his best to tuck the mark out of sight. Then he crossed the study of the suit he’d been offered and stepped into the bedroom, where his crown was stowed. He perched the simple, solid band of unadorned gold at a rakish angle on his hair, and allowed Pepper to straighten it with a disapproving tut when he stepped out again.

Then Pepper was chivvying him out the door and down to the meeting hall where all the negotiations had taken place. They were evidently the last ones to arrive, going by the empty corridors and whispering servants, and Tony felt Pepper’s wince as they approached the huge gold-plated doors to the hall that stood open, revealing the milling courtiers and advisors who were waiting for them. Before they completed their approach, Tony offered Pepper his arm and a winning smile, which earned him a hissed, reproving “Tony!” before her manners reasserted themselves, and she slipped her arm through his with her bland for-the-court smile back in place.

As they stepped into the meeting hall, the herald by the doors cleared his throat and announced them; “His Royal Majesty, High King Anthony Stark of Ferronia. Accompanied by Her Grace, High Duchess Virginia Potts of Vulcana.”

At one end of the massive, oval, oak table that dominated the room, Emperor Odin looked around with carefully restrained annoyance. All of Tony’s carefully banked indignation and irritation came flooding back at the sight of the man who had so carelessly insulted Tony’s family in more ways than one. “High King Anthony.” He greeted, inclining his head. “You are late.”

“I’m a busy man, Odin.” Tony retorted, and enjoyed the way the man’s face hardened at the familiarity. He guided Pepper to the opposite end of the table to Odin’s seat, where there was another ornate chair waiting for Tony. He pulled out the chair to the left of his own for Pepper, the right being occupied by Rhodey, the long-suffering head of Tony’s Royal Guard. Rhodey greeted them both with a nod and a tight smile that they both returned. “And what with your last minute additions to our treaty, there’s been a lot of fine print to comb through.” Tony went on as he sank into his own chair and shot a razor-sharp smile down the length of the table to where Odin was reclaiming his seat.

After a moment of careful consideration over steepled fingers, Odin stated “You are displeased by my suggestions.”

It was only the vice-like grip Pepper suddenly had on his hand under the table that stopped Tony snorting in derisive mockery. As it was, he still only barely managed to restrain himself. “You mean aside from the fact that a little discussion before the fact would have been nice? Yeah, I found your terms a little offensive.”

“Offensive?” This incredulous question came from the man seated at Odin’s right, bulky and blonde and bearded, his son and heir, Imperator Thor.

“I’m sure you’d make a wonderful husband, but my daughter isn’t going to enter into an unhealthy marriage, no matter your bizarre ideas on the matter.” Tony informed him sharply. “And that’s just my first complaint.”

“ _Unhealthy_?!” Now Thor was the one sounding offended.

Pepper smoothly stepped in to save Tony from starting a war, her fingernails biting into the back of his hand where no one could see. “What His Majesty means to say is that it would be highly frowned upon for the High Princess of all people to enter into a marriage with only one person. And that, regardless of the public image of the royal house, he is also… discomforted by the idea of his daughter being subjected to an unbalanced married life.”

Nearly every member of Odin’s council was looking baffled and confused. A few of the lesser courtiers who had been left standing were muttering to each other, and several of the more valued advisors seated around Odin’s end of the table were outright gaping. “You… expect your daughter to take more than one husband?” Odin finally asked, frowning deeply over his golden eye-patch at Tony. For once, Tony wasn’t distracted by his desire to steal the thing and figure out all the spells woven into it.

It was Tony’s turn, now, to fight to puzzle out the meaning of that question. “You mean to say… that in Asgard, you only take one spouse?” He asked slowly. Rhodey made a small, surprised sound at his side.

“Of course.” Odin replied, and there was a hint of reproving judgement in his voice that made Tony bristle.

“In that case,” Pepper jumped in before Tony could say something offensive, “it seems this issue would need a great deal more discussion, if you still wish for a marriage to seal the treaty. In Ferronia-”

“And the rest of the _civilised_ world.” Tony muttered under his breath. Pepper pinched the soft flesh of his inner wrist, and Rhodey kicked him in the ankle to shut him up. Thankfully, it didn’t seem as though Odin had heard him.

“-we consider a relationship incomplete unless it is a triad. To have a dyad get _married_ is almost entirely unheard of. A large number of people will choose not to live as a dyad at all, and put any romantic relationship on hold until a third partner is found.” Pepper finished as if Tony hadn’t said anything at all.

“That is-!” Thor began, but cut himself off so abruptly Tony was suddenly certain that someone had shut him up in much the same manner as Pepper and Rhodey had to keep his own tongue in check. “…an interesting custom.” Thor concluded, shooting an annoyed look across at Odin.

Odin didn’t deign to acknowledge the look. “You said you had other complaints?” He prompted instead, eyes locked on Tony’s.

“Yes.” Tony bit out. Pepper’s hand on his became more of a soothing hold than a painful restraint, and he appreciated more than he could say that she was so well versed in what he needed, and when he needed it. Of course, ten years of dancing around the fact they were half in love with one another would do that, he thought with only a hint of bitterness. “As my heir apparent, the High Princess will not be living outside the borders of Ferronia. Unless she renounces her titles, in which case she’s hardly eligible to fulfil the marriage treaty anyway.”

For the first time, Tony saw an expression on Odin’s face that wasn’t carefully guarded. For just a moment, there was a look of open shock on the Emperor’s face, which Tony decided to allow himself to be smug about. “Your _daughter_ is your heir?” He asked.

Now Tony was annoyed again. “Yes.”

“…Am I mistaken in thinking you have a son?” Odin questioned.

Tony turned his hand over under Pepper’s so that he could squeeze back in comfort when she gripped his hand tight as a vent for her own irritation. “I have a _younger son_ , yes.” Tony informed Odin, who was still frowning. “Therefore, my daughter is heir apparent, since she is my oldest child.” It was very hard for Tony not to tack ‘you complete moron’ onto the end of his sentence but he was soothed by the fact he didn’t need to, Odin obviously heard the words in his tone of voice anyway, because his glower was back in full force.

“Is that all?” Odin asked, audibly struggling to find his patience.

“Not quite.” Tony retorted. While he was speaking the truth, he did say it mostly for the rise it got out of Odin. Watching him close his eyes and press a fist to his forehead as though he was praying for patience was definitely a high-light of the meeting. “This is the part where a little discussion before hand would have done you a world of favours. Because I refuse to sign anything regarding my children specifically without them getting a chance to voice their own objections. I doubt you want these talks to drag on any longer than they already have, so you really should have mentioned this earlier, or not at all.” Tony pointed out.

“They are of royal blood, are they not?” Odin riposted, sounding weary and exasperated. “Surely they are aware that ruling requires personal sacrifice on occasion?”

“Of course they are.” Tony shot back, rolling his eyes. “But you can’t call it a sacrifice if _someone else_ takes it from them. They have to _choose_ to put their kingdom first. Otherwise you get despots and tyrants on thrones and, really, that’s not a good look for any monarchy, is it?” Odin was not impressed by the wisdom Tony was spouting, which was his loss, but beside him, Thor looked quietly poleaxed. When Odin didn’t deign to respond, Tony finally let his boredom win out over the macho-posturing, and broke the silence. “That’s it, by the way.”

“No suggestions on a better arrangement yourself?” Odin asked mildly.

Tony spread his hands at shoulder height. “You’re the one that wants a marriage to seal the deal in the first place. My suggestion? Why bother with a marriage in the first place? It’s not necessary. But you knew that already, that’s why you tried to slip it in without a negotiation.” Where his tone had started out idle and careless, it snapped sharp on the last sentence, and as one the courtiers around the edge of the room sucked in a scandalised breath. Tony shot Odin a quicksilver grin and waited for him to make his next move.

Odin took his time considering, eye straying into the middle distance as he thought over his options. Finally, he refocused on Tony’s face and leaned forwards, bracing his forearms on the table with hands clasped and fingers interlinked. “A compromise, then? My second son wedded to your daughter, and another of your choice, so that they may live in Ferronia.”

Outrage bubbled up in Tony’s throat, but before he could open his mouth and give it voice, Pepper’s fingers clamped down on his wrist. Thor, however, had no such restraint. “Father! You cannot be serious!”

“Unless you have something productive to contribute, Thor, I suggest you guard your tongue against pointless protests.” Odin warned him, low enough that Tony wasn’t sure if he was even meant to have heard.

While Thor began his protests anew, Pepper leaned in to Tony’s side to mutter in his ear. “Tony, you can’t just reject this proposal as well. He _has_ compromised, so we need to as well. We can arrange another meeting, go home, speak with Darcy. She will understand.” She insisted.

“I don’t like this, Pep.” Tony hissed back, long practice at talking without moving his lips helping him keep this argument discrete. “I didn’t even know Emperor Eye-Patch over there even _had_ a second son until just now. Darcy deserves better than this.”

“She’ll be able to chose their third, that’s more than a lot of monarchs get.” Pepper retorted.

“She hasn’t even got her eye on anyone-” Tony protested.

“Don’t be dense, Tony.” Rhodey interjected. Tony turned his head slightly to give his friend a quizzical look out of the corner of his eye. “Okay, I _know_ you are not actually that unobservant. You know _exactly_ who she’s been flirting with.”

Tony fought the urge to tip his head back and groan. “Bruce has told me very explicitly that he is not interested in starting a relationship. Forget doing this to Darcy, I would face a coup if I tried to do this to _Bruce_.”

“He wouldn’t _actually_ try to dethrone you, Tony, don’t exaggerate.” Pepper snapped.

“No, he’d run away instead, and Darcy would cheerfully sabotage me in revenge.” Tony retorted, and Pepper winced minutely. For all that he really hoped he was exaggerating, they both knew his eldest child well enough to know that she was far more passionate in her defence of others than herself.

“What about her handmaid?” Rhodey suggested. “They’re close.”

“…I think I _would_ actually be risking a coup if I made _another_ common-folk part of the peerage, Rhodey.” Tony reminded him, shooting Pepper a slightly wry, fond smile, only to find her with her head tilted in thought, eyes slightly glazed. “Pep?” He questioned curiously, hardly daring to hope. Usually, when Pepper got that look on her face, she was about to pull something completely unexpected out of thin air that somehow managed to make everyone walk away thinking they got the best end of the deal.

Slowly, Pepper refocused on him. “I just thought-” She began, so quiet Tony was reading her lips more than he was listening to her voice. “Well, we _have_ been looking for a third ourselves. If Emperor Odin wants a marriage, then perhaps…?” She barely seemed to dare suggest it, fear warring alongside intrigue in her expression.

Tony blinked at her, forgetting, for just a moment, to mask his expression in his surprise.

“Your thoughts, Anthony?” Odin called, and Tony looked back around to see that Thor was scowling up a storm, while Odin looked perfectly bland and mild again. Tony was still reeling from Pepper’s suggestion, so he didn’t immediately want to smack that look right off his face.

It took him several moments to gather his thoughts. “I wasn’t aware you had another son.” He decided to open with.

Odin narrowed his eyes. “I do.” He replied simply.

“And who does he take after? You?” He asked, framing it like an idle inquiry.

Thor snorted. Both Tony and Odin turned to look at him, the former curious while the latter looked vaguely unimpressed yet prompting. Thor took the cue, although he didn’t look very happy about it. “In truth, Loki is much more like our mother. He has her grace, and her sharp tongue both. She taught him magic, as well, and he learnt much else on his own power.” Then, because Thor was obviously in a mood to upset his father, added. “In truth, it should have been Loki accompanying our father on these talks. He is a far more able diplomat than I, but Father believes I ought to learn without Loki to act as my crutch.”

Tony glanced at Pepper, and she looked back. The intrigue was winning against her uncertainty. “I have a counter proposal.” Tony announced as he turned back to Odin, who raised an eyebrow in surprise. Pepper was too distracted by the current topic to pinch Tony again, but he felt it anyway, in the realisation that he probably had been a little too antagonistic. “I’d rather not drag these meetings out any longer than they have to be, so perhaps Imperator Loki would accept myself and the High Duchess as his fiancés?”

Both members of the royal house of Asgard looked stunned, but Odin recovered first, and he nodded. “I believe we have reached an accord.” He agreed. Thor opened his mouth, looking like perhaps he was about to protest.

Tony talked over him. “Great. I’ll have someone draw the new treaty up right away. Well, the future Queen will have someone draw up the new treaty.” He corrected, and caught the slightly startled smile that flashed over Pepper’s face at the new title. Tony hid his own grin, squashed the apprehension in his gut, and got to his feet. “In the meantime, I have some very important spellwork to be getting back to.”

* * *

Barzilai Castle was a dreary, intimidating thing. Solid grey stone made up the walls of the castle and keep alike, topped with roofs of dark slate where there were roofs at all, rather than battlements. The protective walls of the keep were thick, and the castle itself was a mess of towers and spires like a tangled thicket straining desperately to reach the sky.

Loki was being a little uncharitable, he knew. He was sure the castle didn’t look like a miserable prison to the rest of the wedding party, but he was not in the mood for being generous. His father had bartered him away for secure trade routes to the ‘new world’ beyond the mountains, and while, if he was honest with himself, he was glad to be leaving Asgard far behind, the manner of his leaving had left a bad taste on the back of his tongue.

The only thing Loki didn’t hate immediately about the place was the hum of magic in the air. He knew, of course, that his future husband was a mage-monarch, but the sheer amount of magic that had to go on within the castle itself to produce that faint whisper of not quite physical sensation in the air was a surprise. The only pleasant surprise so far.

It settled in his bones as they were waved through the portcullis, the intense shadow of the gateway dropping over them like a shroud. He and Thor were riding up front, instead of in the royal carriage with their mother, because Loki was restless and dissatisfied, and Thor had been stuck to his side like glue for the last couple of months. Then they left the gate behind and a courtyard opened up in front of them, a set of huge oak doors standing wide opposite them, leading into the depths of the castle. The edges of the courtyard were lined with curious courtiers, a unit of guardsmen, and a smattering of lucky servants, while the steps leading up to the castle’s front doors were occupied by a handful of people Loki assumed to be the royal family.

Loki reigned his steed in when he was a dozen paces away from the foot of the steps, and swung himself out of the saddle with all the dignity he could muster. These people were to be his jailers; he would not let them see him as anything less than the perfect noble. He took a moment to pat Sleipnir’s neck before he handed the reigns to the stable boy that had bounded over, and finally turned to acknowledge the Starks.

The family unit was stood together, the royal children situated a little off to one side and a few steps down from the High King. The son was still in the awkward, gangly stage of adolescence, nearly but not quite an adult, probably only a year or two away from reaching twenty, Loki supposed. His mop of unruly brown hair and surprisingly delicate jaw-line were traits he shared with both father and sister, though his sister’s hair was long enough to appear mildly tamed by comparison. She was most certainly already a fully grown woman, though there was still a touch of youth about her face that suggested she couldn’t be more than five or six years older than her brother.

Their father, and Loki’s new fiancé, was of an age with Thor, half a decade older than Loki, most likely, and still within the reaches of his prime. He was a handsome man, Loki acknowledged with some reluctance, and the appreciative smile that curled his lips as he returned Loki’s scrutiny only enhanced his attractiveness.

Beside him, arm linked with his, stood Loki’s _other_ fiancée, and oh, how that rankled. That Odin would chose a match such as this for him after spending the last two decades deriding Loki’s less than selective taste in bed partners. Emphasis on the plural. It was even more irritating that he found himself unable to be disgusted or unimpressed – as of yet – with either of them. The High Duchess was certainly beautiful, with soft strawberry-blonde hair and sharp features softened by the cuteness of freckles and the gentle, welcoming smile she was directing at Loki.

Thor stepped over to Loki’s side and, together, they approached Loki’s new family. “High King Anthony, may I present my brother.” Thor began, and Loki resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He was glad he did, because keeping his focus on the High King allowed him to see the man’s polite smile turn ever so slightly pained and resigned. Thor continued on, oblivious. “Loki Odinson, by the Blessings of Valhalla Imperator of Asgard, Forger of Flame and Frost, Wind-Walker, Earth-Mover, Shape-Changer, Harbinger of Ragnarok, Trickster and Silvertongue, He of the Healing Touch.”

While Thor was rattling off the list of titles Loki half wished he didn’t have, High King Anthony took the chance to give Loki a curious once over. When his eyes returned to Loki’s face, Loki arched an eyebrow at him in mocking challenge. “Well, that’s a bit of a mouthful, quite honestly.” Were the first words Loki heard the High King utter. He almost laughed, and couldn’t fully hold back his smirk. A matching expression flickered to life on Anthony’s face in answer. “Mind if I just call you Loki?” Anthony asked.

“So long as that same courtesy might be extended to me, Anthony.” Loki retorted.

Anthony pulled a face. “Ugh, no. Call me Tony. Everyone who’s anyone around here calls me Tony.” He corrected with a dramatic little shudder. At his side, High Duchess Virginia dug an elbow into his side, so discrete Loki nearly missed it, and Tony cleared his throat. “And this is Her Grace, High Duchess Virginia Potts, but you can call her Pepper.”

“…Pepper?” Loki echoed sceptically.

High Duchess Virginia smiled a faintly self-deprecating smile and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “It’s a long story. Tony likes giving people nicknames, and it took him a while to bother to learn my actual name. Honestly, I prefer it, so it all worked out in the end.”

“Pepper it is, then.” Loki acquiesced, which put a far more genuine smile on her face.

At that moment, the introductions were interrupted as the royal carriage finally entered the courtyard itself, the honour guard of some of the finest einherjar of Asgard creating a barrier between the spectators lining the walls and the path the carriage was taking. It rolled to a stop alongside the doors, and the footman leapt forwards to pull out the carriage steps, open the door, and hold out a hand for the Empress.

“Shouldn’t that have been you in there?” Tony leaned forwards to ask quietly of Loki.

Loki smiled faintly. “Most probably, but I prefer to ride in the open air than sit idle inside a dull wooden box.” He explained, in equally low tones. Tony flashed him a surprised yet appreciative grin, but held his tongue as Frigga descended the steps, smoothed out her dress and swept forwards to greet the Starks. “Tony, Pepper, allow me to introduce my mother, Her Imperial Majesty, Empress Frigga of Asgard.” Loki announced with a grand gesture to Frigga.

“No fancy titles?” Tony questioned, eyes alight with curious glee.

Frigga held out a hand to him, smiling warm and sharp, and he had the sense to take it and press a kiss to the air just above her knuckles. “Oh, I have many, but to strangers who have not heard how I earned them, I imagine standing through them must be rather tiring.” Frigga informed him, although she did shoot Loki a slightly arch and questioning look.

“And a bit of a mouthful, when we’ve already come to first-name terms.” Loki interjected, more an explanation for his mother than Tony, although that was where he directed his words.

Tony, for his part, grinned bright and wide. “Oh, so there’s a story to each one, then?” He asked Frigga, skating an intrigued look across at Loki.

“Indeed there is.” Frigga agreed. “But they are for another time. Right now, I should like to be introduced to my son’s new family.” She announced, too mild to be called pointed, except for the sharpness of her gaze.

“Of course.” Pepper stepped in. “No doubt you have heard of His Majesty and myself from your husband, and these are Tony’s children; Her Highness, High Princess Darcy Stark, and His Highness, High Prince Peter Stark.” As she introduced each of them, she gestured to first the young woman, then the young man, and they both bowed politely to Loki first, then to Frigga and Thor. All three bowed – or in Frigga’s case curtsied – back. Before the atmosphere could grow stilted, Pepper half turned and gestured towards the open doors behind her. “Shall we move inside?”

There was a round of acquiescence, and the seven of them headed inside, several nobles, courtiers and servants drifted after them, far away enough to be considered polite, but close enough to eavesdrop. Loki was distracted from the people around him by the intensifying of the hum in the air. It was enough to catch his breath in his throat, and his eyes slipped shut for a moment, focusing on the awareness tickling across his skin like static. “Such magic here.” He commented, without fully intending to, and promptly cursed himself for letting his guard fail for even a moment.

“Yes. That’s JARVIS. He runs the household. Actually, he _is_ the household. If you need anything, anything at all, just ask him, and he’ll do his best to see that you get what you need.” Tony replied, a strain of smug pride filtering into his voice.

“Indeed.” This confirmation had, it seemed at first, no physical point of origin, just a vague point somewhere in the air above their heads. It was enough to make Thor jump, though Loki and Frigga kept their composure better. “I am at your service, sirs and ma’am.” As the voice, JARVIS, continued, Loki realised that it wasn’t originating from the air, but the walls of the foyer they had stepped into.

Too curious to resist, Loki stepped across the flagstones and pressed a hand to the cold stone wall. Magic rippled under his fingertips, and Loki realised that there must be runes and sigils and all manner of magical equations carved into every single stone that made the castle. _Well, at least my prison cell is gilded in the most extraordinary fashion_ , Loki mused, unsure if he felt more stifled and trapped by the knowledge that the very walls were watching him, or simply elated at the sheer mastery of magic building such a construct required. “Remarkable.” He murmured.

“Thank you, Your Highness.” JARVIS replied.

“Which of your ancestors built this marvel, Tony?” Loki inquired.

Tony stepped up beside him, looking insufferably smug with secret knowledge dancing in his eyes. Loki felt the sudden, visceral urge to pry his secrets out of him until he possessed them all. He didn’t bother to repress it; it would be as fun a way as any to pass the time in his new prison. “They didn’t.” Tony informed him, drawing Loki’s attention back to topic at hand.

Loki narrowed his eyes. “Who did, then?”

“I did.” Tony stated.

“ _You_ built this entire castle?” Loki blurted out in shock.

Tony’s head snapped around to study him intently, and slowly began to smile, lopsided and oddly feral. “You noticed, that, huh?” He asked, voice slipping low with his intensity. “Yeah, I did. Took me the better part of ten years, and that was with help from some of the second best mages my Kingdom has to offer, and some of _the_ best stonemasons in the then-known world.”

“Second best mages?” Loki inquired.

“Haven’t yet met anyone as good as me, sweetheart.” Tony shot back.

Loki arched an eyebrow, smirking right back into the face of Tony’s arrogance. “You have now.” He informed him coolly.

“Oh, really? Would you care to prove that?” Tony challenged.

“Boys.” Pepper interjected, fondly exasperated. “Perhaps you can play later? I’m sure Loki and his family have had a long journey and wish to rest, and there’s a wedding being held in less than a week, in case you forgot. Everyone ought to be well rested for tomorrow, as there’s still a lot of planning to be done.”

“But-” Tony began to protest.

“Wedding first, magic after.” Pepper interrupted smoothly.

Loki dipped his head in acknowledgement. “Of course. Politics should always have the priority over hobbies.” He agreed, which seemed to pleasantly surprise Pepper, if the way she brightened and gave him a glowing smile full of relief was anything to go by.

“Damn, now there’s two of you.” Tony muttered, but he didn’t actually sound as unhappy as his words might have indicated.

* * *

After the arrival of the Asgardian wedding party, Peter found that Barzilai Castle suddenly felt so much more crowded. To be fair, it wasn’t just the Asgardians, but guests from both Ferronia’s various noble families, as well as dignitaries from neighbouring Kingdoms. Unlike his sister, who was revelling in the new atmosphere and ever-present buzz of activity, Peter found himself retreating more and more often to his suite – or to the labs in the basement, but given Tony was all but living down there to avoid the wedding planners, he preferred his suite at the moment – just to catch his breath.

He was in his study, attempting to carve a charm for invisibility, when there was a loud, insistent rapping at his door. His head snapped up as he fumbled and dropped the clear piece of quartz he’d been working on. Before he could ask JARVIS who it was at his door, a clear female voice rang out as his visitor opened his door without asking permission. “Peter!”

Peter scrambled to his feet and darted out of his study, smiling in anticipation of seeing one of his oldest friends. He caught himself on the doorframe between the lounge and the study of his suite as Mistress Guinevere Stacy, heir apparent to the High Lord of Lutea, strode into his rooms like she owned the place. “Gwen!” Peter greeted, and her face broke into a grin as she spotted him. “JARVIS didn’t tell me you were here! When did you get here?” He demanded, letting go of the doorframe to hug her.

“My apologies, young sir, but Mistress Stacy requested that her arrival remain a surprise.” JARVIS interjected.

“I didn’t want you running away from me like you’ve been running away from everyone else.” Gwen informed him promptly as she released him and stepped back to study him judgingly, and without even an ounce of shame. “You do know that Harry’s here, don’t you?” She checked with narrowed eyes.

Peter grimaced and rubbed at the back of his head. “I’ve been meaning to go and find him, but-” He gestured helplessly in the air with his free hand. “Every time I step out the damn door, I’m waylaid by this servant or that noble, and I before I know it, three hours have gone by and I still haven’t got to where I want to go.”

Gwen rolled her eyes at him. “Your problem is you’re too nice.” She informed him, forcibly linking her arm with his and guiding him towards the door. “Come on, Harry’s been sulking that you haven’t said hello yet, and you know what he gets like when he’s upset.”

“He could have come to see me!” Peter protested, even though he knew it was hopeless.

“You know he wouldn’t, Peter. One doesn’t simply _bother_ the High Prince, you know, especially not in the lead up to a royal wedding. Propriety demands that he stay out of the way unless you invite his company.” Gwen retorted as she led them through the halls of the castle with such an air of intent and purpose that no one actually dared to approach them.

They found Harry outside, lingering around the edges of the makeshift arena that had been set up for the wedding celebrations, watching the knights training with a critical eye. Peter suspected Gwen had checked up on his location with JARVIS before she barged into his rooms, because she hadn’t even hesitated on her way out here. When he spotted them approaching, he straightened out of his slouch and bowed. “Your Royal Highness. Madam.” He greeted formally, a coolly challenging look on his face as he straightened.

“Your Grace.” Gwen replied, matching his manners perfectly with a curtsey of her own.

Peter chose to just sigh in long-suffering exasperation instead. “Knock it off, Harry.” He complained, tugging the other boy into a hug. Harry went stiff as a board at first, but relaxed after a moment of consideration and returned the hug, even if he did squeeze Peter far too tightly. “Sorry I didn’t find you before. This place has turned into a social quagmire because the wedding.”

“I arrived _yesterday_ , Your Highness.” Harry retorted, squirming out of the hug in order to punch Peter in the shoulder. Somehow – and it always impressed Peter when Harry did this – he managed to turn the formal term of address into something scornful.

“I know! I’m sorry!” Peter yelped, rubbing at his arm.

Harry glared at him for a tense moment, then relented and finally smiled. “You’re forgiven, you ass.” He decided, slinging an arm over Peter’s shoulders and ignoring Gwen muttering about boys behind him. “Now, are you going to heckle the knights with me, or are you going to be your usual wet-blanket self?”

“That’s cruel, Harry.” Peter protested, but that didn’t seem to deter his friend at all. Harry and Gwen both proceeded to playfully call out challenges and, _occasionally_ , encouragements to the men and women honing their combat skills for the tourney to celebrate the wedding.

They had been at it perhaps half an hour when the usual pattern of rotation through sparring matches and various individual training was interrupted. Peter had gotten distracted trying to figure out the right equations for a spell to speed the growth of a sapling by his foot, when Gwen and Harry fell abruptly silent. He glanced up, curious. It wasn’t hard to spot the disturbance, really, as the blonde Asgardian Imperator stood out among the Ferronian knights and warriors due to both his presence and his foreign style of armour.

“Is there perhaps one among you willing to spar with me?” Imperator Thor asked, his voice carrying quite impressively. There was a moment of stillness, but then one of the more brazen warriors – not a knight, Peter realised, but one of the common militia – stepped forwards and accepted the challenge. Gwen and Harry stayed quiet, apparently more interested in watching than heckling now, as Thor and his opponent squared off against each other.

The match was brutal. Where a knight might have hesitated when facing a member of royalty, especially foreign dignitaries, the warrior Thor was fighting didn’t seem to have any qualms about taking every opening afforded her. Peter did actually get drawn into watching, so he jumped when someone whistled not too far behind him, and he turned to see his sister and her handmaid, Jane, approaching them. Darcy’s eyes were on Thor. “So that’s who I nearly ended up married to, huh?” She asked, no small amount of appreciation in her tone.

“Are you saying you’re sorry Dad rejected that version of the treaty?” Peter asked sceptically.

Darcy pulled a face. “Not really.” She acquiesced. “But still… _Damn_.” She announced emphatically, fanning herself as Thor finally bested his opponent, who ceded the match with good grace, resulting in Thor flashing a beaming grin and clapping her on the shoulder.

“Mm.” Peter conceded, joining Darcy in appreciating the play of muscle under the golden skin of those arms. “It’s probably a good thing there was no question of Thor being the one to marry Dad.” He added after a moment with a thoughtful grimace. “Thor would have made him feel all insecure and inadequate.”

“Oh, gods, no. That would have been _awful_.” Darcy groaned.

“Insecure and inadequate?” Jane echoed, looking between the two sibling. She also rather pointedly ignored the scandalised look Harry was giving her for speaking out of turn.

Peter glanced over at Darcy just as she turned an amused, prompting look on him. After a brief, silent argument, Peter relented and tried to explain. “Did you ever meet Lord-Admiral Steve Rogers?” He asked Jane, although he glanced at Gwen and Harry to include them in the conversation as well.

“The Aegean blonde- Oh.” Jane began, then stopped to nod as the comparison registered.

“Do you know if he’s coming to the wedding, by the way?” Darcy interrupted.

Peter shrugged. “Pepper’s in charge of the guest list. I know a lot of invitations went out to Aegis, but I haven’t heard who’s actually coming or not.” Darcy nodded in understanding, and Peter turned back to Jane. “Well, the last High King apparently had a bit of hero-worship going on, and he wasn’t exactly a model father…”

Darcy snorted derisively. “Apparently he liked to compare Dad to Lord-Admiral Rogers, in ways that weren’t so complimentary towards Dad, lets say.”

“Oh.” Jane said again.

“Wait, what?” Gwen interjected. “I’ve seen the Lord-Admiral and he _cannot_ be as old as your father.” She protested, looking between Peter and Darcy with the beginnings of an indignant frown marring her features. “He’s got to be closer to your age, Darcy.”

Darcy shook her head, but before she could explain, Harry jumped in, eyes narrowed shrewdly. “Rumour has it that he has a longevity spell carved into his bones.” He stated, though it sounded more like a question.

“Yeah.” Darcy confirmed. “And a lot more besides, if some of the things I’ve heard Dad muttering about are true.” She shared a significant look with Jane, whose eyes went wide with understanding. Peter wondered what on earth that was about, but was distracted from his curiosity as Darcy jumped back to their original line of conversation. “You know, despite the fact that I don’t think it could have been worse than Thor, I do actually think Loki will be good for Dad and Pepper.” She mused.

Peter grinned a little. “Dad certainly liked the way he talked about JARVIS, that’s for sure.” He agreed, drawing an agreeing snicker from Darcy and a delightedly curious look from Gwen. “Loki noticed JARVIS before he introduced himself, and knew without asking that he’s in the entire castle, carved into every stone. Dad almost had hearts in his eyes.”

“Pepper’s banned them from working in the lab together until after the wedding.” Darcy added. “Which is smart because I don’t think she’d be able to get them out for the ceremony if they really got going beforehand.”

Gwen and Jane laughed at the idea of the High King missing his own wedding, while Harry only smirked to show his amusement, a curious tilt to his head. “What does Her Grace think of her new fiancé?” He asked.

“They haven’t really had much time to get to know each other, they’re so busy.” Peter told him. “But she told me she does think he’ll fit well with them.”

Darcy suddenly burst out laughing, nearly doubling over with the strength of her mirth. “Oh, I think ‘fit well’ is a bit of an understatement.” She giggled when she had the breath, wiping at her eyes and still shaking with laughter. “The head decorator was being pedantic, you know how fussy he can be, and you should have seen the way they tag-teamed him. It was _amazing_ ; he didn’t even realise until they were gone that they’d completely fobbed him off. He was left standing there like he didn’t have a clue what just happened, but he thought he ought to be a bit impressed and a lot terrified anyway.”

Peter and Harry joined the girls in laughing this time, and Peter felt something inescapably fond and hopeful unfurl in his chest. It was a ridiculous thing to think, given that he’d only met Loki the once, and they hadn’t even exchanged a word between them, but he suddenly felt like praying that he would fit in their dysfunctional little family like a missing piece.

* * *

The reason Pepper was so very good at organising things – up to and including an elaborate royal wedding – was because she honestly enjoyed it. She also knew, however, that she was something of an anomaly in that regard, a fact that was emphasised by the way all three Starks seemed to want to avoid any input in the process at all. Darcy was the least objecting, but most of her opinions could be boiled down to a general indifference to the specifics, as long as the people important to her enjoyed their special day.

Loki was a little more difficult to read. He was polite and engaged in every discussion, but Pepper didn’t think she was imagining the edge of strain in his expression every time he thought no one was looking. She kept trying to find moments to talk to him, to get a better read on him, but he was surprisingly good at avoiding revealing anything personal, on the few occasions they had time to actually talk to one another.

Which was precisely why, as the final preparations died down on the eve of the wedding, Pepper took herself and a bottle of the really good wine from the vineyards of her Duchy to Loki’s rooms for a chat. She had invited Tony, but he had been eyeball-deep in adjusting some of his magic armour, and she wasn’t even sure his muttered assent that he’d join them later was even _conscious_ , so she brought only the two cups. If Tony wanted some wine, he could bring his own glass.

Loki answered her knock at his door with a mild and politely expectant expression that faltered when he saw exactly who it was standing outside his door. In his shock, a little more weariness than she thought he really wanted to reveal showed through, and Pepper felt a pang of sympathy and regret, even as his expression returned to more carefully guarded politeness. “We haven’t really had any time to get to know one another, so I thought I’d offer my company and drinks this evening.” She explained, proffering the wine.

“In Asgard, it is considered bad luck for the betrothed to spend the night before the wedding together.” Loki informed her, but he was smiling a little and standing back to hold the door open wider for her, so she didn’t take it as a refusal.

Stepping into the rooms, Pepper saw that there hadn’t been much change to the overall decorations; furniture of dark wood with tasteful, if a bit ostentatious, red upholstery, and several thick rugs and wall hangings to help keep in the heat of the large hearth. There was, of course, a more communal suite, including their soon-to-be marriage bed, off which the three more private suites branched, and these rooms were Loki’s own, private and entirely his. Now, Pepper was wondering if he knew that.

Pepper decided not to bring that up just yet. Despite his agreeable expression, there was a tightness to Loki’s shoulders that suggested he wasn’t entirely comfortable with her presence. She didn’t want to exacerbate matters by digging into his private choices so blatantly. Instead, she said “Well, since Tony’s not here, I don’t think we have anything to worry about in that regard. He might be joining us later, if that’s agreeable to you and he even remembers that I suggested it. He can get a bit lost in his magic sometimes.”

“I confess, I share that affliction.” Loki admitted, with very carefully crafted self-deprecation. He gestured for her to take a seat, any of the three plush armchairs arranged around the fire. She took the one to the left of the fire, the one closest to the door, so as not to insinuate herself further into his territory than she’d been invited. Loki took the one on the right, leaving more of a gap between them, but also putting them _almost_ directly opposite each other. “It is a world unto itself, magecraft, and the single-minded focus it draws out of me is the closest I have ever managed to bring my mind to stillness, which is a blessing, when I need it.”

This was not exactly an alien concept to Pepper, so she nodded as she set the glasses on the little half-table between her and the unoccupied chair so that she could pour out the wine. “Tony says much the same. He says that people are chaotic in a way that strains him to keep up with. He has a lot of ways of dealing with them, some more diplomatic than others, but can’t really relax unless he’s working on one spell or another.” She explained, passing over one of the glasses, which Loki accepted with a grateful nod.

“In that, we differ, it seems. Most people, I find to be… terribly dull and predictable, save for those few exceptions I find almost as engaging as my spellwork.” Loki countered, before taking a testing sip of the wine. Pepper was a little more distracted by the flash of tongue darting across his lips than she was comfortable admitting.

Pushing that thought to one side, Pepper focused instead on the faint fluttering of nervousness Loki’s words had put in her gut. “I hope you don’t find Tony or myself too dull.” She commented, with a touch of a rueful smile about her lips.

“It hardly matters.” Loki pointed out dryly.

Pepper’s smile, rueful as it was, fell away entirely at that. “Of course it matters.” She corrected at once, though she was careful to keep her voice soft. “I know this marriage has already been arranged, signed and sealed in all but the deed itself, but I would hope we could make… if not a truly loving relationship of it, then at least a friendly partnership.” She paused, to gauge Loki’s reaction to that, but his cool stare was giving nothing away. A sigh left her almost against her will as she accepted the need for her next words. “Of course, no matter what else, you are not bound by anything more than the exact letter of the treaty, including any and every loophole we can wring from it.”

Loki considered her over his glass for a long moment, the shrewd consideration on his face more honest than a lot of the other emotions she’d seen from him. “You would accept from me my honest disdain, over a pretence of affection?” He asked simply.

Disappointment struck Pepper a lot harder than she was expecting it to, but she swallowed it down with a sip of wine. She didn’t think she quite managed to keep the pained edge off her smile, however, if the way Loki’s eyes narrowed slightly was anything to go by. “Yes. I… won’t say that I’d be unaffected by it, but should you desire never to see mine nor Tony’s face again after tomorrow, I shall do my best to arrange something.”

“Something?” Loki probed curiously.

Bracing herself, Pepper finally managed to push her personal feelings back in favour of treating this more like court business. “I have currently left my Duchy in the hands of temporary ministers, but I _will_ need to find a more permanent solution to my impending elevation in position. With my marriage to you and Tony, the title will most likely eventually fall to Peter, but if you were to spend most of your time in the manor to the south, administering it, no one would be overly suspicious. It’s a wonderful place, if you like warmer climes and good wine.” She paused, thoughtful. “There are other options, but that is the first that leaps to mind.” She concluded.

“Ah, I prefer colder weather and mead, if I’m to be perfectly honest.” Loki informed her, smiling faintly with a mischievous edge. Pepper wasn’t entirely sure what to make of that, except that it made his earlier coolness seem less of a rejection, and more of a cautious feeling out of his options. A little of the sting of it eased from her chest, and her breath became a little less tight. Loki took the time that she was adjusting to consider her, and finally asked, deceptively mild, “You have no heirs of your own more likely to inherit the title?”

Pepper took the change of subject onto easier to discuss matters, and even mustered a smile. “No. At least, none that I’ve managed to keep track of.” As she expected, that got her a surprised lift of Loki’s eyebrows, so she elaborated, smiling a little wider. “I am the first of my family to hold the title. Before myself, my family’s skill set lay mostly, as you might have guessed from my surname, in pottery and ceramics.”

That earned her a look of genuine surprise. “You are of common birth?” Loki asked, and he sounded perfectly taken aback. It was, Pepper thought, quite flattering.

“Yes. I actually worked for the Duchy’s estate as a scribe and record keeper. The High Duke at the time was a son of a very old family line that had held the land for longer than most other noble families of Ferronia. He was actually a close friend to the last High King, and acted as Regent after the last High King died when Tony was too young to take the throne.” Pepper explained, grimacing a little at the mention of High Duke Stane.

“How old was he, when his parents died?” Loki asked, frowning a little.

“Fourteen.” Pepper replied, and Loki winced a little in sympathy.

“And how did you come to hold the title, if he was so well liked?” Loki wondered, something oddly sharp in his voice.

Pepper had a feeling he was suspecting her of using more dishonourable means to acquire her station. “I discovered that the old High Duke was planning a coup d’état. I brought the news to Tony, and after having the man executed and his family name publicly disgraced, he offered me the title as a reward.” She paused, smiling faintly to herself. “Well, that was after I turned down the offer of his hand.”

Once again, she saw genuine surprise flash across Loki’s features, almost too fast to catch. “If you turned him down, then how is it you come to be marrying him now?” He asked.

“This is probably going to sound very strange to you, given the drastic differences in our cultures.” Pepper warned him with a gentle sigh, and Loki gestured for her to go on, his curiosity only sharpening in response. It was something Pepper found she appreciated in him. “I’m something of a traditionalist when it comes to my love life. I am… not at all comfortable with the idea of being part of a dyad-”

Loki made a small noise of comprehension, and Pepper paused to blink at him in curiosity of her own. “You seemed more hurt by my implication that I might wish to avoid yourself and Tony than I had thought our limited acquaintance merited.” He explained wryly. “But it was not precisely myself you were lamenting the loss of, but the potential I represent for what you consider a healthy relationship?”

“I think you’re selling yourself short.” Pepper informed him gently, because she couldn’t fully contradict him, but she didn’t like the depth of the self-belittlement that showed in his eyes. “Even just our passing conversations during the last few days have caught my interest, and you should know that that invitation into Tony’s lab? That is a rare honour, and a sign that you’ve definitely intrigued him.”

“Accurate.”

Pepper startled at the sound of Tony’s voice behind her, and was a little disgruntled to notice that Loki only stiffened momentarily, before deliberately relaxing again. He flashed that sharp-edged smirk in Tony’s direction, but directed his words to Pepper. “Allow me to return the compliment. I find you both far more engaging than I expected to.” He informed her, and Pepper took the reassurance for what it was, letting it soothe away the last of the hurt. She offered him a sincerely grateful little smile in turn, which softened the edges of his smirk fractionally.

“That’s good.” Tony said, stepping further into the room and snagging the glass out of Pepper’s hand as he passed her to sit down in the remaining chair. “You’re not disgusted or otherwise reeling from culture shock at the idea of two spouses?” He asked bluntly, after draining the glass of wine and passing it back to an only mildly disapproving Pepper, who refilled the glass and pointedly kept it out of Tony’s reach this time around.

Loki arched one eyebrow and snorted. “Actually, I find the idea quite refreshing.” He announced boldly, evidently enjoying the surprised delight that elicited out of Tony and Pepper both. “I’ve always found Asgard’s condemnation of exploration and glorification of jealousy to be both stifling and rather unhealthy.” The way his eyes flashed told Pepper his choice of words had been a deliberate echo of Tony’s own protests to Odin’s marriage clause.

Tony evidently caught it, too. “Oh, did that piss Emperor Eye-Patch off?” He asked excitedly, leaning forwards in his chair.

“It bothered him for _weeks_.” Loki confirmed with a flash of a grin.

Tony gave a triumphant shout of laughter, tipping his head back to chuckle rather gleefully, which seemed to please Loki a great deal. Pepper shook her head at both of them. “I feel like I should probably be disapproving of your deliberate attempts to piss off foreign dignitaries, but he _really_ had it coming.” She mused.

A flash of something strangely open and delighted appeared on Loki’s face. Pepper was thinking about how to comment on that when Tony beat her to the punch. “I’m suddenly sensing some familial resentment here.” He remarked.

Loki’s expression shuttered at once, but before he could defend himself, or try to correct Tony, Pepper interjected with what she hoped was a little more tact than Tony was displaying at present. “More resentment for a court of fools too blind to see the faults in the Emperor you can see all too clearly?” She wondered lightly.

It brought a grudging smile to Loki’s face as he nodded, and he relented just a little. “Both, in truth.” He acknowledged, before draining the last of his wine and proffering the glass in a silent request for more. Pepper obliged him by moving to refill it. “Ever since I was small I’ve been fed up of the way the Kingdoms seem to eat out of his hand, but he was my father and I loved him all the same…” He trailed off, letting his silence speak for him.

“Yeah, I noticed Goldilocks doing that. Odin didn’t believe a word of all the morality play bullshit he spouted in those meetings, but Thor was completely taken in.” Tony remarked in tones of disgust.

It surprised a laugh out of Loki, nearly upsetting his newly filled wineglass, but he managed to steady it even as he snickered. “Oh, thank you, Tony.” He breathed out between his chuckles. “That’s refreshingly blunt.” He complimented, and Tony grinned, clearly very pleased with the effect of his words.

Pepper hated to bring the mood down, but she had a question she wanted to ask. “I noticed your past tense when you spoke of loving him?” She questioned carefully.

Loki’s laughter faded into something bitter and cold. “I am… not best pleased with him, of late.” He admitted, which wasn’t precisely what Pepper was asking, but it was still a concession, and she was grateful for at least that much honesty.

“And strong-arming you into a political marriage is the icing on the cake?” Tony wondered.

“It felt a little like mockery.” Loki agreed coolly.

Despite how visibly careful he was being with both his words and his actions, Pepper decided that none of it truly rang with deception. She relaxed back into her seat, and took a moment to bask in the relief. “Thank you.” She said into the comfortable silence. Both men looked at her in confusion, and she smiled, mainly at Loki. “I had wondered, with how insistent Odin was about this marriage, if you might not be… Well, Odin’s idea of a long-term investment into eventually conquering us.” She explained.

Loki looked momentarily startled, though he concealed it a second later. “That… is quite possibly his eventual plan, yes.” He concurred slowly.

“You hadn’t considered that?” Pepper asked warily. She was a little surprised, given the astuteness he’d already displayed in just this one conversation. It didn’t seem like the sort of thing he should have missed.

Loki seemed to know where her thoughts were going, because he looked mildly chagrined. “I honestly considered that his desire was far more likely to simply get me out of the way. And sending me off to a political marriage too distasteful for anyone else seemed to speak volumes for what, exactly, he thought of me.” He explained reluctantly.

Understanding dawned with crystal clarity for Pepper, because it was the sort of thing she heard coming out of Tony’s mouth far too often when he was drunk. “I see.” She said quietly.

“He _is_ enough of a conniving bastard who has plans within plans that you’re quite right to be suspicious.” Loki continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “Although telling me you know is hardly going to make your lives any easier.”

Tony narrowed his eyes, but Pepper smiled, wide and warm enough that Loki shifted, his equilibrium disturbed with his sudden uncertainty. “On the contrary, I think honesty has given us a wonderful opportunity.” She informed him primly. Loki tilted his head to one side, silently and sceptically prompting her on. “You admitted yourself you’re not too happy with Odin, and he’s clearly underestimating you if he thinks trying to pull off something like this would go better with you a pawn rather than a partner.” Pepper paused to shrug with carefully orchestrated carelessness. “And here we are on the eve of our new partnership.” She knew Loki could extrapolate the rest of what she wasn’t saying.

So could Tony, and he was beaming at her. Loki, on the other hand, looked disbelieving and a little unimpressed. “Are you really suggesting I turn traitor against Asgard?” He demanded coldly, seeming every bit offended by her suggestion, except for that gleam of calculation in his eye that Pepper caught only because she was looking for it, after his trick earlier.

“Not at all.” Pepper corrected mildly. “Neither myself, nor Tony, has any desire at all to do harm to Asgard. However,” here, she let her polite façade drop in favour of a fierce, steely shrewdness, “we do not take very kindly to those who threaten us or those we consider ours. We will go to great lengths to keep Ferronia safe from even the likes of Emperor Odin, should he chose to make a move against us. What I am offering you, Loki, is a place, and a people, to call your own, and partners who will stand with you against Kings, Emperors, and even Gods, should they choose to take exception to you and yours.”

Loki’s breath caught, a tiny flinch of shock and longing he couldn’t entirely hide. It was in that moment that something in Pepper told her she wasn’t going to regret this. While across from her, Loki’s shock became a dark and deeply unimpressed mask. “You should try to avoid making promises you can’t keep.” He warned her.

“Watch us.” Tony challenged before Pepper could get a word out. She looked over at him and saw him staring at Loki with such intensity it was almost a glare, except the heat in his eyes was of a more appreciative nature than anything truly hostile. “This isn’t a false platitude, but if words aren’t going to convince you of that, then just _watch us_ prove you wrong.”

Slowly, Loki started to smile. It wasn’t an entirely friendly expression, with far too many dark corners and sharp edges in it to be anything other than predatory. “If you think you can put on a good enough show.” He shot back.

“Sweetheart, putting on a show is my speciality.” Tony retorted, grinning wide and insouciant. As Loki implied something disparaging about Tony’s skill set with wicked playfulness, and the pair of them began to banter, Pepper settled more comfortably into her chair and watched them with a growing sense of fondness. When she had suggested this marriage to Tony, she hadn’t dared to even imagine anything past a cordial friendship with their third, but right now she found herself thinking that this was likely to end either in complete disaster, or unmitigated success the likes of which the world should be a little terrified of.

Unlike Tony – and Loki, it seemed – Pepper preferred to skirt the optimistic side of realism. She didn’t necessarily believe that good things just happened, but when she saw the chance for one, she fought for it with a level of conviction that always seemed to leave Tony in a state of poorly-concealed awe. And this, she decided, watching her two men tease each other with increasing glee, this was something she would fight damn hard to have.

* * *

The wedding itself, while undeniably a royal wedding with all the gilt and frills that implied, had far less tedious ceremony than Loki had been expecting. In Asgard, a royal wedding would have taken a whole day with speeches and ritual and a lot of standing around infinitely bored as one official or another droned on and on about the sanctity of marriage. Here, there was only one speech to stand through, and while to natives of Ferronia, it might have been boring, Loki was fascinated to listen to the religious opinions of a nation with such wildly different marriage customs to his own.

The wedding itself was being held in the throne room, the High Priestess standing before the central throne, flanked as it was on either side by a slightly smaller throne, one for each of the ruler’s spouses, and Tony, Pepper and Loki standing before her. They were arrayed in a circle, facing each other, decked out in all their finery.

Tony stood with his back to the congregation, looking every inch the King he was in a knee-length gold-embroidered surcoat under a breastplate and vambraces too rich a red for it to look like rust. The red metal was engraved with such intricate, complex sigils and spells that Loki’s breath caught just at the sight of them and he itched to spend some very long while translating and dissecting them, perhaps even improving them.

On Tony’s left stood Pepper, resplendent in a gown of the palest cream-white, embroidered with gold thread that glinted when it caught the light, twisting into shapes that almost looked like flames. The effect was particularly strong when she moved, and the sunlight pouring in through the huge window behind the thrones caught and flickered along the golden shapes. Her hair was twisted up into a loose, elegant braid that curled around her head in mimicry of a crown, pinned in place with tiny pale pink gems, while her fringe was left down with a few extra strands to frame her face.

Loki himself was decked out in his Asgardian ceremonial formalwear; all complex golden-bronze metal plating and black leather armour over rich green cloth, with far more buckles and straps and fastenings than was strictly necessary. His own armour, the metal parts at least, had certain sigils inscribed on them, and he caught Tony eyeing them with just as much fascination as Loki had showed his.

The High Priestess’s speech wound down to its end, and the three of them linked their hands between them when she instructed they do so, arms crossed at the wrist so that, while Tony was standing on Loki’s left, it was his right hand that Tony held. They were then prompted to speak their vows, mostly learned lines of dedication and faithfulness and honesty that Loki let trip off his tongue without paying much heed to their actual meaning. There was, however, more room for variation than the vows he was used to, they each added their own little quirks to the standard vows. Tony almost caused Loki to disrupt his own wedding by bursting out laughing when he slipped a subtle double entendre into his _wedding vows_.

As they spoke their vows, one after the other, The High Priestess stepped forwards and slowly wound a silky golden rope around their hands in a deceptively simple weaving pattern, until both ends hung down in the triangle between their wrists as Loki finished swearing to bind his life to these two virtual strangers. “I declare you wed.” The High Priestess concluded. “You may now kiss.”

And that was when Loki got his first taste of Tony Stark’s mouth. It was not a tame kiss in the slightest, all heat and challenge and fierceness, though Tony did keep it short in deference to their audience. When he drew back, Loki had barely a moment to appreciate the grin slowly spreading across Tony’s face before Pepper leaned in to catch his mouth herself. She was softer, gentler, but no less enticing for it, and she deliberately drew it out just long enough to tease. Finally, the two of them leaned towards each other, and Loki was arrested by the sight of them together.

It occurred to him, in that moment, that the appreciation he felt, seeing them so intimate together, was not so aberrant a reaction as all in Asgard had led him to believe. Here, in this place, with these people, it was a thing to be treasured and indulged. The mix of relief and burning desire he felt surprised him with it’s intensity.

Only when they broke apart did Loki become fully aware of the restrained and dignified applause they were being graced with. It continued on through the High Priestess unwinding the rope again, and retreating off to one side, leaving the path up to the dais where the thrones sat clear. Then the clapping died down, as Tony offered a hand to each of his new spouses and led them up onto the dais. Once there, he released their hands to step forward and pick up the simple, nearly delicate, golden circlet that lay waiting on the leftmost throne.

Loki knelt. Beside him, Pepper did the same, and Tony stood in front of Loki, holding the circlet in his hands. “As my husband, do you solemnly swear to share in the burden of governing the Kingdom of Ferronia, in accordance with the laws set forth by my ancestors, with all the dedication and duty as befits a King of Ferronia?” Tony asked.

“I solemnly swear so to do.” Loki replied, and felt Tony carefully settle the circlet on his head, only noticeable by the faint, cool pressure of the metal on his forehead. The process was repeated with Pepper and she was crowned with the circlet waiting on the other throne, then both she and Loki rose to their feet again, and the three of them took their seats.

The applause started again, much more prolonged this time and continuing even as most of the attending peerage started to arrange themselves in preparation for swearing loyalty to their new monarchs, while also renewing their vow to the High King, _and_ to present their wedding gifts for the newly weds. Loki was looking forward to it. Since his arrival, he had been attempting to map out the political intricacies of Ferronia, but the imminent wedding had slowed his progress considerably. But finally, here was a chance to catalogue the majority of the nobility and get at least a preliminary impression of their personalities.

Instead of employing use of a herald, Tony instead had JARVIS announce the nobles as he or she approached the throne. “Presenting His Grace, High Duke Justin Hammer of Malcheval.” The man in question knelt at the base of the steps leading up to the thrones and spoke an oath of fealty with enough saccharine enthusiasm and cheap showmanship that Loki didn’t believe him for an instant.

Loki leaned his head ever so slightly towards Tony and asked, quiet enough that only Tony and Pepper would be able to hear him and with barely any movement of his lips, “Is he deliberately mocking us, or is he always this awful at feigning sincerity?”

“The latter.” Tony confirmed for him as High Duke Hammer began a spiel about his gift. “He’s mediocre at _everything_ , and hasn’t got a clue. Case in point.” He added with distaste as Hammer finally got around to actually presenting his gift; a trio of swords that he had enchanted himself, a fact he went to great lengths to emphasise. He had evidently made some weak attempt to vary the spells worked into the metal of the swords to suit each of them individually, but even without studying it, Loki could tell that the spellwork was feeble and full of shortcuts and botch-jobs that would fall apart if put under any stress at all.

“Thank you, Your Grace.” Pepper said, since Tony seemed to be finding his own words of thanks sticking in his throat.

“Yes.” Loki agreed graciously. “We’re honoured to receive such an excellent representation of your skill at magic. One can only imagine you put the same care and dedication into every aspect of your life.”

Beside him, Tony devolved into a sudden coughing fit. “Couldn’t have put it better myself.” He choked out in a strained voice. Casually, while everyone’s attention was on his other hand waving forwards servants to take the gifts, Tony reached across the arm of his throne to hold Loki’s hand, interlinking their fingers and squeezing to communicate his appreciation of Loki’s wit. Hammer retreated back into the crowd, smug and completely unaware that a good portion of said crowd was entertained at his expense.

JARVIS cleared his throat. “Presenting His Grace, High Duke Harold Osborn of Herlakon.” He announced, and a handsome, if sharp-featured and haughty-looking, young man stepped forwards and knelt to swear his oath.

He looked vaguely familiar to Loki, and after a moment of running through his memory, Loki managed to place him in the company of Tony’s son, Peter, and a blonde young woman. Once again, he barely moved his lips as he asked Tony; “A friend of Peter’s?”

“Yeah.” Tony murmured back. “Well, sort of. At the moment. Hopefully?” He paused as Loki gave his hand a reprimanding and impatient squeeze, and took a moment to order his thoughts so he could explain. “The two of them and the High Lord Stacy’s daughter, Gwen – the blonde girl near the pillar at the back – have been friends since they were toddlers, but a couple of years ago, they tried dating. It… really didn’t go well. It ended explosively and everyone got hurt. Peter and Gwen reconciled relatively quick, but Harry’s been giving them both the cold shoulder until a couple of months ago.”

“Ah. Tensions still running a bit high?” Loki extrapolated.

“Mm.” Tony confirmed grimly.

Harry presented them with a gift of rather exquisite jewellery, which they graciously accepted. Another half dozen High Dukes and Duchesses – or their spouses or children, if the heads of the family themselves couldn’t attend the wedding – paraded past. After the first few, Tony got the hint from Loki’s consistent muttered questions and began keeping up a stream of whispered information about each noble that stepped forwards. Occasionally, Pepper would interject something that Tony would then repeat for Loki’s benefit.

Then came the High Counts and Countesses, or their various representatives, most of whom Loki found easy to dismiss as ineffectual politicians of little note. There were a few exceptions, some vicious social climbers, one or two impressively talented mages, and a close friend of Tony’s. When JARVIS announced “Presenting the Most Honourable High Count Bruce Banner of Gimel,” Tony actually visibly perked up and grinned down at the dark-haired, vaguely uncomfortable looking man as he stepped forwards. High Count Banner returned the grin with a smile that was more rueful and weary than Tony’s, that emphasised the stress lines around his eyes.

“A friend?” Loki murmured as Banner knelt.

“A very good friend.” Tony confirmed. “If he hadn’t been, you might have ended up married to him.” He added, which caught Loki by surprise. He glanced across at Tony briefly, one eyebrow quirked upwards. “He’s pretty adamantly against starting a relationship, but if we’d stuck with Odin’s idea of marrying you to Darcy, Bruce likely would have been your third. She likes him.”

“And it doesn’t bother her than he’s older than you?” Loki wondered without judgement.

“Barely.” Tony countered in a very off-hand manner. “He just looks older than he is because he’s so stressed all the time. And no, it doesn’t bother her, but then she is very much the sort to just roll with the punches and come up swinging.”

“You sound proud.” Loki remarked.

“I am.” Tony agreed, just before he needed to make the necessary noises to accept Banner’s oath, and then his gift of several rare books on a wide range of subjects. Loki and Pepper were more visibly pleased by this than Tony was, which Banner seemed to find rather amusing as he retreated back into the congregation.

Once Loki had assessed that the current High Count wasn’t all that interesting – weak-willed and boringly content with his lot – he asked Tony, “That man Banner is speaking with, who is he?” The man in question was tall and imposing, with dark skin and a remarkably intent stare for someone with only one eye to stare with. The air of quiet, but powerful, authority around him, along with the eye-patch, reminded Loki uncomfortably of Odin, although this man obviously lacked Odin’s penchant for extravagance. Where Odin couldn’t resist expensive jewel-laden and gold-edged accoutrements, the dark man was dressed in understated, plain black leather.

“Lord-Navarch Nicholas Fury. He’s the ruling monarch of Aegis, to the south of us. We’re on generally friendly terms with them, despite them being a warrior monarchy. Of sorts.” Tony explained briefly, which had the unfortunate effect of leaving Loki with two more questions for every answer he’d gained.

“I thought there were only seas and then barren wastes to the south of Ferronia?”

“Ah, well, there are.” Tony confirmed, sounding a little amused and a little sheepish. “Aegis is made up of a few hundred floating, nomadic cities. And when I say floating, I mean they actually tend to float in the air, rather than on water, but they can do both.”

Loki made a small sound of understanding, before the conversation paused so they could accept the latest oath and gift, and so Loki could assess the next noble, a woman JARVIS introduced as High Baroness Helen Cho, who seemed a little too smart for her own good, in Loki’s opinion. And yes, he was very aware of the hypocrisy of that thought. When she had passed, and the next noble proved perfectly boring, Loki returned to his questions about Aegis. “You said Aegis has a ‘sort of’ warrior monarchy.”

“Well, they were originally a military outpost of Ferronia, around three hundred years ago or so. Back then there were some real nasty warmongering types coming up from the other side of the deserts of the southern continent. Given the distances they had to travel, their dirigibles and ships became a lot more like homes, and eventually cities, and then they declared independence. But their monarchy isn’t really a _monarchy_ as such, just the military hierarchy left over from when military is all they were. Also, because of that, non-hereditary.”

“More of a meritocracy?”

“Yeah, exactly. See the guy on Fury’s other side? That’s Lord-Admiral Philip Coulson, Fury’s second-in-command, and a really close friend of Pepper’s.” The man Tony was talking about was non-descript enough that Loki was instantly suspicious and curious about what, exactly, he was hiding under his perfectly unnoticeable exterior.

“How many foreign dignitaries are attending our wedding, exactly?” Loki asked. Pepper had informed him, previously, that over half a dozen invitations to royal families had gone out, but hadn’t had time to be updated on who was actually attending.

“I don’t actually know. Pepper would know, though.” Tony admitted reluctantly. Then Loki heard him hiss “Ow, Pepper!” followed by a petulant “Fine, I’ll pay attention, even though it’s _boring_. Ow!” and Loki decided that he would stop asking tangential questions lest Tony pass the abuse along to him in petty vengeance.

Thankfully, they only had a dozen or so more to sit through before they were finally free of their royal duties. Then they, and their guests, made their way outside, to where several buffet tables had been arranged around the edges of an arena. Food and fighting was a familiar form of celebration to Loki, with just enough newness of it in the form of customs and organisation that it was comforting without being especially boring.

The royalty were seated at a banquet table along one side of the arena, while the nobility and other guests could chose between little clumps of seating scattered further back on the elevated flagstones, or standing room at the edges of the arena to watch the bloodshed. Most chose to stand, with plates of finger-food in hand. Loki discovered, through Pepper introducing them, that besides the Starks and his own family, there were three other royal families there, of a sort. Fury and his second-in-command weren’t a royal _family_ as such, except for the fact that Coulson had apparently also brought his daughter, who was of an age with Peter and a highly impressive mage for one so young. One of the others was little more than the youngest bastard son of Spartoi’s Star-Lord, whom Ferronia had rather tumultuous relations with. The last was a family unit of seven; the two Kings of Genosha, along with the younger sister of one of them and her family; a husband, a wife, and two small children.

Due to the variety of characters, the conversation at the royal table was lively as the tournament began. A large group of combatants were being paired off to fight, simultaneously, it seemed, and Loki was a little startled to find that there were some serious discrepancies between the various armour and weapons people were using. Upon being asked about the rules of the match, Peter, who was seated on Loki’s right, explained; “It’s pretty simple, really. Anyone can enter, with any weapon of choice. First to yield is the loser. You’re disqualified if you kill or cause permanent injury.”

“Really?” Loki asked in surprise, thinking of home, and how it wasn’t uncommon for people to die in the official tournaments that Odin hosted.

Peter frowned. “Of course. This is a _game_ , not war.” He pointed out as if it should be obvious.

“That sounds remarkably sensible.” Loki agreed with an accepting nod, and Peter relaxed a little, smiling again. “Tournaments like this are usually a lot more dangerous, in Asgard, though with substantial enough prizes that it makes entering highly tempting, despite the threat to life and limb.” He explained.

That managed to draw a small wince out of Peter, but he took a deep breath and visibly let go of his indignation over Asgardian customs. “There are rewards for people who win tourneys here, too.” Peter told him, picking out the least unsettling part of Loki’s statement and using it to find some common ground. Loki was a little impressed at the boy’s diplomacy. “Usually they’re things like a knighthood or a position in the royal guard, but sometimes it’s money. Once, when Rhodey – the head of the royal guard, and Dad’s personal bodyguard – when he won, Dad actually gave him some armour he’d personally enchanted. The prize depends on who wins, really. And whether Pepper’s here to reign in Dad’s bad ideas.”

Loki chuckled at that, and Peter shot him a conspiratorial grin. “Have you ever participated?” Loki asked him, gesturing to the arena, as a pair fighting staff against fists flashed past in front of the royal table, only to be replaced by someone wielding an enchanted whip facing off against someone with a pair of chakrams.

“No.” Peter shook his head easily. “Dad does, sometimes, and those tourneys are always really exciting, but I don’t much like fighting unless it’s for a really good reason.”

Proving that he was capable of paying attention to more than one conversation at once, Tony broke off his conversation with the King of Genosha to lean around Pepper, who was seated between him and Loki, to interject; “Blowing off steam is a good reason.”

Peter rolled his eyes. “Okay, let me rephrase; I don’t like fighting unless it’s unavoidable.” He corrected himself.

“Sound guideline, to a certain degree.” Loki acknowledged, ignoring Tony as he pulled a face. “Although tournaments like this can be useful in keeping skills honed without unnecessarily endangering your life to test yourself.” He suggested.

“That’s true.” Peter accepted.

“They’re also fascinating to watch.” Pepper added. “The sheer variety of fighting styles on display is remarkable, like that woman with the flail, see how she’s using it to tangle up her opponent’s spear?” She pointed out, indicating a fight off to one side of the arena.

They spent the majority of the following bouts, each one containing half the number of participants than the last, dissecting fighting styles, until there were only a little over a dozen combatants left. There was a break, then, in the fighting, so that the fighters could rest properly and replace any damaged armour and get medical attention, and the nobility could place bets. “Who are we rooting for?” Tony asked, looking first at Darcy on his left, then along down the seats to his right, including Pepper, Loki and Peter in his question. Loki got the feeling this was something of a family tradition that he was being included in.

There was a heartbeat of thoughtful silence. Loki scanned over his memory of the remaining warriors, comparing fighting styles and assessing weaknesses. A few stood out to him but before he could narrow it down further Pepper declared “The one wearing the blindfold.”

Everyone followed the direction of her nod to where the dark haired man wearing sturdy red-brown leather armour and, yes, that was a bright red blindfold over his eyes was conversing with one of the warriors who got knocked out in the previous rounds who was helping him readjust his armour. There was a set of nunchucks in his hand, and he was cleaning blood off the tips, resorting the polished wood to pristine condition. “You can’t be serious, Pep.” Tony announced, but he was grinning like he thought it was just ridiculous enough that it made sense.

“Actually, I think she’s right.” Loki informed him, studying the man with a bit more attention than he’d paid him before. “He’s skilled _and_ smart, and using his handicap to his advantage. I approve.” He decided.

Pepper shot him a happily conspiratorial look. “Exactly.”

“How’s he using it to his advantage?” Peter asked curiously.

Loki couldn’t quite keep the shark-like grin off his face. “He’s blind, Peter. The only reason for him to wear a blindfold is to show his opponent that he can’t see. Thus, they underestimate him. To their detriment, as we can see.”

“Oh.” Peter breathed, looking impressed. “Yeah, okay.” He agreed, nodding. “We’re rooting for him.”

“Three against two, Tony.” Pepper informed him smugly.

“Four against one.” Darcy corrected. “I like his style. He’s all brutal and persistent.”

Tony held up his hands in defeat, laughing a little. “Hey, I never said I wouldn’t root for him. I just think it’s ridiculous that we’re hoping the blind guy is going to beat everyone up. But you know me, I love ridiculous ideas.” He informed them, drawing laughs out of his kids and indulgent smiles out of his spouses. “Hey, do we know who blind-guy is?”

When no one near by piped up with an answer, Darcy stood up and waved a petite blonde woman out of the crowds. She approached with a long-suffering look, but her tone was at least moderately fond when she said “You do know it’s my day off, Darcy, right?”

Loki shot Pepper a curious look, and she obliged him by murmuring “Jane Foster, Darcy’s handmaid and closest confidant.” Loki nodded his understanding, and tuned back into the younger women’s conversation.

“I know, I know, but the servants get all the gossip, even on their days off. Do you know who the guy in the blindfold is?” Darcy asked without preamble.

Jane blinked. “Oh. Matthew Murdock. He’s hoping to win a knighthood. Apparently, it’s been his dream since he was a boy, and even the accident that left him blind hasn’t deterred him at all. He and his friend, Franklin Nelson, the one he’s talking to right now, both entered the tourney with the agreement that whichever one of them won would request a knighthood and make the other their squire.”

“Collaboration. That’s sneaky. I like it.” Tony mused approvingly.

The bouts recommenced, and if people noticed that the royal family was overtly favouring one of the combatants, cheering his successes and – in Tony and Darcy’s cases – booing his opponents when they landed a hit, they didn’t comment. In fact, the few eye-rolls that Loki caught glimpses of suggested it was, in fact, a common occurrence. Every now and then, Murdock would barely repress a smile in time with a particularly flattering comment made by one of the Starks that he shouldn’t, rightly, have been able to hear.

“You know,” Peter began when the final bout arrived, and Murdock was facing off against a man wielding an impressively large claymore, “the way he’s fighting, you wouldn’t think he’s taken as many hits as he actually has. It’s like he doesn’t even feel them, he just keeps going.”

“I would wager he feels them most acutely.” Loki mused, eyes narrowed. “Certain levels of pain, before it becomes truly debilitating, can bring one a remarkable focus and drive if one has mastered their emotions and body both.”

Tony side-eyed Loki. “I don’t want to know how you know that, do I?”

“I sincerely doubt it.” Loki replied, sweet and mild.

Out in the arena, Murdock’s opponent swung his sword in a sudden lunge, and Murdock shifted out of the way. Then his opponent shifted his footing, twisted his stance, and the claymore changed direction mid-swing, the flat side of the blade sweeping fast and hard towards Murdock’s head. The audience gasped in unison, but the thud of metal striking flesh and bone never came. Murdock had dropped, twisted from the shoulders and flipped so that his heels caught his opponent’s wrist with not inconsiderable force as he regained his feet.

The sword’s tip dropped. Murdock planted his foot on the flat of the blade to drive it into the hard-packed dirt and launch himself into the air and over his opponent’s head in a flurry of movement that resulted in the chain of one of his nunchucks pressed tight against his opponent’s throat. “Do you yield?” Murdock asked calmly into his opponent’s ear, tone only slightly ruined by how out of breath he was.

“I yield.” The man replied thickly.

Murdock released him in time with the sudden, exultant and remarkably undignified roar of the assembled nobles.

“ _Holy shit!_ ” Darcy exclaimed.

“Seconded.” Peter agreed, breathless with awe.

“Are you _sure_ he’s blind?!” Tony demanded.

“Quite sure.” Loki confirmed. “See his mannerisms. That tilt of the head? He’s _listening_ , not seeing.” He explained and saw Murdock flash a quick grin. “And clearly has quite remarkable hearing.”

Tony caught on, eyebrows flying up, before he rose to his feet and the cheering died to muffled mutterings as Murdock approached the royal table. He halted a fair distance from it and knelt, arm braced across his knee, perfectly patient and still. “Congratulations, that was a spectacular victory. Have you any request for your prize, Champion?”

Murdock smiled like he was in on a secret joke, which, if his hearing was as good as it seemed, he was. “A knighthood, Your Majesty, if I might be so bold.” He requested.

Tony pretended to consider for a moment, and Murdock didn’t even so much as twitch from his position. “After a display like that, I can hardly refuse.” Tony decided finally, and there was a sharp upsurge of interested conversation among the crowd in response. As he passed by the edges of the crowd on his way around the table, Tony held out a hand and – Loki couldn’t quite believe he’d actually just _married_ this man – made a vaguely distracted grabbing motion towards a dark skinned man wearing the armour and sigil of a member of the royal guard. “Rhodey, give me a sword.”

Rhodey wore a long-suffering expression as he passed over the sword he was wearing at his hip. Tony approached Murdock and, with remarkably little ceremony, dubbed him and bid him to stand; “Arise, Sir Matthew Murdock, Knight of Ferronia and member of the Royal Guard.”


	2. In Which There Is Chaos, Scheming, And Lies

Having been some combination of offspring, caretaker, student, and conscience to Tony Stark for nearly two decades, JARVIS was well versed in the concept of adapting to change. Over the weeks following the wedding, he adapted to the new dynamic of the family unit with surprisingly little difficulty. The hardest part, really, was figuring out how to classify Loki in his welfare-priority queues. He had considered Pepper an honorary member of the royal family for nearly nine years now, since the first time Tony had allowed her to take over the bedtime routine for a then ten-year-old Peter.

Loki was harder to classify. He was still an unknown element, and JARVIS had learnt paranoia and cynicism from a master, so trusting him simply by default was not something JARVIS was capable of. But he couldn’t simply be classed as a stranger of unknown value, because he _was_ now a King of Ferronia and therefore a valuable part of both the court and the family unit.

Other than that, however, Loki and his marriage to Tony and Pepper was not as much of a disruption to the status quo as JARVIS had suspected he might be. He fitted into the pre-existing dynamic well, and made Tony and Pepper’s transition from not allowing themselves to want more directly to being married and all that entailed much smoother than anyone had expected them to manage. He was also building a rapport with both the children, and was more at ease when conversing with JARVIS than most people ever managed.

All of this was, perhaps, why he was so unprepared for the sudden, unannounced arrival of Lady-Captain Skye Coulson only six weeks after the wedding. Caught off guard, JARVIS took a moment to check his memory of the last couple of weeks, but as he had thought, there had been no missive from Aegis announcing a diplomatic visit. “Good evening, Lady-Captain Skye. I’m afraid we weren’t expecting you.” JARVIS greeted her, and was pleasantly surprised by the fact that she didn’t startle in the slightest.

“Hey, JARVIS.” Skye replied, smiling at nothing as she shrugged out of her heavy leather flying coat and goggles. JARVIS opened the door to the discrete servant’s closet, and her smile broadened. “That was actually kind of the point. I have an important message to deliver to High King Anthony, and we didn’t want to give anyone the chance to stop me.” She explained as she hung her coat and goggles up ran a hand back through her hair. “And I told you last time; just call me Skye.” She added.

Now that JARVIS was paying more attention, she looked exhausted. There were shadows under her eyes and a tightness to her expression that hadn’t been there during the wedding at all. She looked, JARVIS thought with sympathy, like she’d been forced to grow up a lot in the last few weeks, and it had taken it’s toll on her. “Of course, Skye.” JARVIS said by way of an apology. “If you would head to the throne room, I’ll have His Majesty meet you there as soon as possible. Unless this is a delicate matter, and requires privacy?”

Skye paused, taking a moment to parse that, then her eyes widened in understanding. “No, no, just… don’t let anyone kill me before I talk to him, okay?”

That was not reassuring in the least, but JARVIS was nothing if not practical, and while he did increase the watchfulness and priority of his security protocols, he also remembered that there was another question he needed to ask. “I shall inform His Majesty right away. While you and he are speaking, shall I have a guest room prepared for your use, or will you be travelling on this evening?” He asked.

Skye let out a slightly shaky breath. “I’ll be staying. Thanks, J.”

“You’re quite welcome.” JARVIS replied, but most of his attention was no longer with Skye. He focus was now down in the labs where Tony and Loki had their heads bent low over their latest project; an attempt at instantaneous transportation. It wasn’t going well, if the number of scorch marks were any indication. “Your Majesty.” He paused to give Tony a chance to pull his head out of the spellwork, and didn’t continue until he had looked up expectantly. “Lady-Captain Skye has just arrived with a message of considerable importance. She is waiting for you in the throne room.”

Loki slowly lifted his head, eyes slightly narrowed, while beside him, Tony frowned deeply. “Were you expecting her?” Loki asked carefully.

“No.” Tony shook his head. “What the hell’s going on, J?”

“I am not sure, sire, but it seems they were worried about third parties preventing you receiving this message.” JARVIS informed him, and saw Tony’s spine stiffen. “I thought it best to announce her as soon as possible.”

“Yeah, good job.” Tony agreed, reluctantly throwing down his pen and standing up. He paused when Loki didn’t move to follow and merely continued working on equations. “You coming, Lokes?” He asked in confusion. Loki looked up in surprise, before an impassive mask settled over his features, and he nodded in concession, rising and falling into step with Tony as he left the lab. JARVIS locked the door behind them, as Tony asked “What was with the face?”

“The face?” Loki echoed, unimpressed.

“You looked surprised. Why’d you think I wouldn’t want you there?” Tony pointed out.

Loki rolled his eyes. “I believe we’ve been over this, on the night before our wedding, in fact.” He reminded Tony impatiently. “I thought you less of a fool than the sort to too easily trust the likes of me.”

“Oh. That.” Tony sighed, rolling his eyes. “If we had to worry about _spies_ , JARVIS wouldn’t have let me know in front of you. No, whatever she needs to tell me, these third parties already know, they just don’t want _me_ to know.”

Loki pursed his lips, and when he next spoke, his words were directed to JARVIS more than Tony, and he looked a little reluctantly impressed. “And I suppose you have failsafes for ensuring Tony is not delayed?”

“Indeed so, sire.” JARVIS confirmed mildly.

“Not counting the fact that JARVIS runs more of my kingdom than I do, so she hardly needs to be talking to _me_ now.” Tony added flippantly.

“That is simply not true, sire.” JARVIS protested primly. “I would be ever so inconvenienced without a useful set of arms and legs through which to enforce my rule.” Tony snickered, holding up a thumbs up because he was laughing too hard to compliment JARVIS verbally.

“Does it not worry you?” Loki wondered curiously.

Tony blinked, but neither he nor JARVIS really needed Loki to elaborate. They had had this conversation several times before, when people realised just how fully sentient and autonomous JARVIS truly was. “Nah. If JARVIS wanted to kill me and take over, I figure I’d deserve it.” Tony shrugged it off.

Tony wasn’t looking, so he didn’t notice, but JARVIS’s sensors were everywhere, and he detected the way Loki’s breath stuttered slightly, and he could read the slightly awed, reluctantly hopeful expression that flitted across Loki’s face. It was only there for a fraction of a second before they arrived at the throne room and it was hidden away again.

“Lady-Captain. I hear you have a message for me?”

Skye jumped when Tony spoke, and turned on her heel to face him. “I do.” She confirmed. She cast Loki a glance, but didn’t comment, and a little tension left Loki’s posture. Visibly steeling herself, Skye straightened her back and lifted her chin, drawing the demeanour of an official messenger around her like a shield. “I am here on behalf of Lord-Navarch Philip Coulson to inform you that his predecessor, Nicholas Fury was assassinated by unknown assailants.”

After several beats of shocked silence, Tony closed his eyes and swore, a steady litany of fairly uncreative cursing. It was Loki who spoke up with the first question. “Why did you think you would be prevented from delivering this message?” He asked.

“Fury’s study – where he was found – had been searched, and all of the documents there pertaining to Ferronia were missing.” Skye explained with a pained grimace. “Mostly trade agreements, but Lady-Admiral Hill is sure that at least one map and a handful of military records are missing, too.”

“So are we the main target? Or is this an opportunistic thing?” Tony asked, his tone dark and a little bitter. Frustrated, he ran a hand through his hair, fingers catching on the knots he ruthlessly dragged them through anyway. “This doesn’t make any sense. If this whoever-it-is is after us, why kill Fury? If they were aiming to kill Fury, why steal the documents?”

Skye shrugged helplessly, but Loki looked thoughtful. “It could have been that Fury was merely in the wrong place at the wrong time. But if this was well planned enough for the thief to get so far into the heart of your capital city, I would expect them not to make a mistake like that. There is, of course, the possibility that _both_ is their objective. Speaking as the son and student of a very successful Emperor, if your goal is expansion, then you don’t ever stop at just one.”

Tony grimaced. “Fuck.” He stated eloquently.

Silence swelled as everyone absorbed the news. JARVIS took the time to readjust his model of the political arena, and quietly process a little of the sorrow. He hadn’t known Fury well – although he probably knew him better than Tony did – but he had been a good man, and JARVIS fully believed the world was a lesser place without him. Then he cleared his non-existent throat to break the sombre silence. “Shall I inform the rest of the family, Your Majesty?” He asked.

Tony blinked, considered, then nodded. “Yeah, good call, J. You staying the night, Lady-Captain?” He asked, looking back at Skye again.

“Yeah. I think Dad- Well, I think he was kind of hoping to keep me out of the line of fire while he gets Aegis back on it’s feet. If this attack was meant to destabilise Aegis, they did a damn good job. Everyone’s panicking about how this assassin-thief person got all the way into Fury’s study.” Skye explained. “So, if I won’t be a nuisance, I should probably stay at least a little while to keep him from having an apoplexy.”

Tony snorted. “I didn’t think he was the fretting type.”

Skye’s lips twisted into a mockery of a smile. “He’s good at compartmentalising, most of the time. But this has all been just a bit too much. Fury was more than just a mentor to him, and Steve’s gone off on his own somewhere, and he’s got to take care of the entire kingdom, and everyone he loves is suddenly under threat, and he wants to make sure I’m safe so that he can focus on taking care of Aegis. I don’t blame him.”

“Lie.” Loki challenged, looking strangely amused.

Skye rolled her eyes. “Okay, I’m mad as hell, but I _get it_.” She countered.

“Wait, Lord-Admiral Rogers just up and left?” Tony jumped in.

“He was the one to find Fury. It hit him hard. He’s taking some time to himself.” Skye explained succinctly.

As the three of them veered off into a discussion of the political climate in Aegis now, JARVIS kept just enough attention on them to absorb the relevant details, but otherwise, he shifted his focus to the other members of the royal family. Of the three of them, Pepper was the most upset on a personal level. Peter had met the man perhaps twice, and while Darcy had spoken to him more often, learning the ins and outs of running Ferronia at her father’s shoulder as he negotiated with Fury, she hadn’t had much opportunity to actually get to know him.

While Pepper wouldn’t consider Fury a friend like Phil was, she valued him as both a strong ally and a – relatively – good person. After absorbing the news and spending a few minutes just taking it in and grieving, she wordlessly moved to her study to begin penning a letter of condolences to Phil. JARVIS continued watching the three of them until he was sure they would be alright, and he wouldn’t need to take action to assist them, before returning his attention to the throne room.

Tony was in the middle of asking “So it looks like there might be a bit of a power-grab, despite Fury being pretty clear about Coulson being his heir?”

Skye nodded. “It’s all a bit of a mess.” She concurred.

There was a comfortable pause, in which JARVIS decided to speak up, before the conversation moved on again. “Her Majesty and their Highnesses have been informed, and Her Majesty is currently composing a letter to Lord-Navarch Coulson expressing her condolences. The announcement to the rest of the court, I leave to you, sire.”

“Oh, thanks.” Tony groaned.

Loki huffed a laugh at him. “Since Pepper’s busy writing her letter, we can spend a little longer in the lab before we head up and join her.” He suggested, and Tony perked up with a grin that _almost_ fully reached his eyes.

Skye watched them go with a faintly bemused smile, although it was weighed down at the corners by tiredness and grief. “They seem to be getting on well.” She remarked, then turned for the doors. “Could you point me in the direction of my room, J?”

“Of course, Skye. If you head up the stairs, then down the hall to your left.” JARVIS instructed, and Skye followed his directions. “And their Majesties have built quite a rapport over the last few weeks. It seems to have been a match well suited to all of them.”

“Lucky.” Skye mused. “The idea of arranged marriages like that is so strange to me. In Aegis, there’s not much point in a diplomatic marriage, when bloodline means next to nothing in the grand scheme of things.”

“Although I don’t think Lord-Navarch Coulson the sort to do this, I suspect some people like to imply that you have your rank, in part, thanks to being his daughter more than any skill of your own?” JARVIS asked dryly. “Up the stairs on your right.” He added.

“Yeah. I get that a lot.” Skye agreed with an irritably amused snort, while following his directions. “Never mind the fact I’m not even actually his by blood anyway.” JARVIS made a slightly surprised humming sound, and Skye’s expression turned more genuinely amused. “Adopted. I don’t remember my birth parents, but apparently they died in some massacre on the southern continent. I got shuffled around a lot after that, mostly got picked up by travellers and wanderers, then handed off to someone else, or left behind when I got too troublesome, and then I’d repeat the whole process all over again. I was about eleven – Ten? I’m not sure – when I was picked up by Aegis soldiers. They brought me onto the floating cities and Dad decided to take me in.”

JARVIS absorbed that in silence, mulling over how to articulate his thoughts and feelings in the wake of Skye’s story. In the end, he settled for the simplest, most honest response he could. “I am glad that you managed to find your way home, in the end, Skye.”

Skye’s stride faltered, and she blinked rapidly as she tried to comprehend JARVIS’s meaning. Then she smiled, a little watery despite her genuine pleasure. “Yeah, me too.”

“If you step out onto the next landing, your rooms are behind the door almost directly in front of you.” JARVIS informed her, letting the heavier topic of conversation slip away as Skye followed his instruction and found herself in a relatively sumptuous guest suite. “I hope it is all to your satisfaction, and should you require anything, please don’t hesitate to let me know.”

Nodding, Skye made her way to the bedroom and sat down heavily on the edge of the mattress. “Do you enjoy what you do?” She asked suddenly. Then she blushed faintly, as though the words had slipped out before she’d fully decided she wanted to say them. “I mean, all this.” She gestured vaguely in the air. “Running the castle and running errands for everyone and being at their beck and call so much? Is it… something you enjoy, or is it just something you do because it’s what you’ve always done?”

The question surprised JARVIS. The more he thought about it, however, the more he felt inexplicably warmed by it. “I enjoy taking care of the people under my charge immensely, Skye, so you need not worry that I am discontent, or that you are a burden on me in any way.” He assured her, and watched her cheeks turn pinker with embarrassment. “I thank you for your concern. No one has ever thought to ask me that, before.”

Skye beamed and ducked her head, even though that did nothing to hide her expression from JARVIS’s sensory relays. “Not even the High King?” She wondered.

“His Majesty has never needed to ask. He knows full well that should I find myself desiring something else, I would ask, and he would do his best to give. That is something I have always known.” JARVIS informed her. He was a little alarmed when his words brought tears to Skye’s eyes. “Skye, are you quite alright?” He asked, a touch hesitant and apologetic.

Skye sniffed and moved hastily to wipe her eyes. “Sorry. I’m just… Fury was like a grandfather to me.” She explained, voice wobbling. Then she laughed, weak and a little cracked, but genuinely amused. “A very distant and grumpy grandfather, but… He was family, and he always worked so hard to take care of everyone. He demanded so much, always wanted us to fight harder, work longer, do more, but… There was never a question that we were his priority, all of us, and he’d give just as much, and more, than he ever asked of us, just to- to keep us safe and happy.” Skye hiccupped back a sob. “And I miss him.” She admitted brokenly.

JARVIS remained silent, allowing her to grieve without any pressure to communicate with him. After several long minutes of semi-restrained crying, Skye swallowed hard and looked up, uncertain and embarrassed, and JARVIS took that as his cue. “I did not have the honour of knowing him so personally as you did, but he was a good man, and I respected him a great deal.”

Skye’s smile was small, but radiated such empathy and gratitude that JARVIS was a little affected, despite himself. “Thanks.” She mumbled, shaking herself out of her melancholy with admirable strength, and setting about readying herself for bed.

JARVIS allowed his attention to drift elsewhere, knowing that the humans within his walls could be a bit sensitive about his presence when they were in a state of undress. Before he could truly begin to focus on other problems awaiting him – such as the puzzles of the suddenly changing political climate and the looming, unknown threat – Skye called out a quiet “Good night, J,” that drew him back to her room, fondly surprised, even though he felt he shouldn’t be, by her consideration of him.

“Good night, Skye.”

* * *

The daily minutiae of running a Kingdom was tedious, but something Tony was well versed in handling. Having Pepper, and now Loki around, did make the burden of it so much easier to bear, because both of them were exceptionally good at organisation, diplomacy, and generally being practical. That did not mean, however, that Tony could get out of it entirely. He was still the primary monarch, the High King, and his input was needed more often than not.

He never made it easy for them, not Pepper and Loki, not Rhodey, not any of the stuff elders on his council of advisors, but he did try to do his best by his kingdom, and that meant spending a few days a week in the King’s study – not his private one, which was more often a mess of half-formulated spells than any government paperwork – going over reports, writing letters and decrees and requests, and occasionally having shouting matches with his advisors.

At present, he was reading through Lord-Navarch Coulson’s response to his latest missive, which had been a suggestion that, instead of having Skye hanging around with no purpose and upsetting his – really stupid and annoying, had he mentioned? – advisors with her presence, that she officially become his ward, as the daughter of an allied foreign monarch. It gave her an excuse to stick around indefinitely, gave Tony, or more likely Pepper, an excuse to discuss politics with her, and it made sense, since Pepper was already as good as an Aunt to Skye.

Phil had accepted, which Pepper had said he would, and his letter definitely had a tone of relief in it that made Tony wonder if he was playing down how bad things had become in Aegis since Fury’s death. It had been two weeks since Skye had arrived, and the political turmoil still wasn’t dying down. Still, unless Phil asked for help, there wasn’t anything Tony could do about _that_.

He penned out the appropriate document for officially making Skye his ward, wrote a quick response to Phil with a subtle offer of assistance if he needed it, and moved on to the next issue. It turned out to be a report from the network of spies – or ‘Questors’, which was apparently the diplomatic term – that Loki had put in place upon discovering that Tony had mostly relied on the goodness of people like Pepper to keep an eye on his nobles before.

It was several sheets of paper thick, furled into a tight scroll, and sealed with black wax imprinted with the stylised S-like Ouroboros that had been Loki’s personal seal. He had granted the Questors permission to use it because, he had explained in fondly long-suffering tones, that gave each report royal status, and therefore the severest punishment could be doled out to anyone who broke that seal who _wasn’t_ a member of the royal family.

The reports themselves, because there were half a dozen of them as Tony discovered when he broke the seal and unfurled them, detailed several individually innocuous events and intercepted missives that, together, painted a rather alarming picture. It seemed that High Duke Hammer was being less incompetent than usual, and organising a coup with some of the lesser nobles.

When Tony realised that was what the reports were getting at, his whole body went cold, then flushed warm with anger. He tried to squash the emotional response and think about it rationally, to make a plan for how to deal with this, but he couldn’t stop his hands shaking, or his breath coming faster, or the way ‘not again’ kept repeating over and over in his head.

After several minutes just trying to fight back his rage and betrayal, Tony tossed the reports away from him across the desk and abruptly stood. Evidently he wasn’t going to get any more work done here, so he was going to go hide in his lab for a while, maybe blow some things up with deliberately botched spellwork. That might help him calm down.

He was half way around the desk when JARVIS spoke; “Your Majesty?”

“I’m heading down to the lab, J. Make sure you seal the doors once I’m down there. I’m going to blow some shit up.” Tony responded in forcibly casual tones.

He could _hear_ JARVIS’s reproving scowl in his next words. “Sire, if I might remind you that Her Majesty insisted that you clear at least half of the paperwork waiting for your attention before you return to the lab-”

“I don’t give a fuck, J.” Tony snapped.

“…I see, sire.” JARVIS replied, concern edging into his voice in place of the reprimand from before. Tony decided not to respond to that, and simply continued down to his lab. Once there, and once JARVIS had locked the doors behind him, he proceeded to work on figuring out the most explosive spells he could. Through a lot of trial and error.

He had _just_ managed to slip into a headspace where the mixture of his rage and the peace he found in magic had cleared his mind to a fantastic degree, and he could _taste_ a breakthrough on the tip of his tongue… When the door opened and he heard Pepper calling “Tony?”

“Gods damnit, JARVIS! I thought I said _total lockdown_.” Tony cursed, and barely resisted the urge to throw his chisel across the room. Pepper slipped fully through the door, but didn’t come any further into the lab. Instead she hovered by the open door, giving Tony painfully concerned and baffled looks.

“Forgive me, sire, but I had thought you wouldn’t wish to unduly worry those who care for you.” JARVIS retorted in a supremely arch and scathing tone.

“That’s _low_ , J.” Tony complained irritably, going back to the sigil he was carving on a stone tablet with renewed vengeance.

“Tony, what’s going on?” Pepper asked, nearly pleading. When Tony didn’t answer her, she huffed a sigh and dared to come a few steps closer. “Please, Tony, just- Stop. For a moment, just stop, and let’s talk about- about whatever’s got you so upset.” Tony paused his carving again to turn his head and glare half-heartedly at her, which she met and matched with a steely, yet still emphatically concerned, frown of her own.

“I don’t need to _talk about it_ , Pep, I just need to-”

“Evidently you _do_ need to talk about it-”

“-clear my head-”                                                

“-because you wouldn’t _be_ down here like this unless there was something really wrong and-”

“That’s exactly _why_ I came down here in the first place, so that I _don’t_ have to talk about anything, is that really such a hard concept to grasp?!”

“-I’m _worried_ about you, Tony!” Pepper cried in a mixture of hurt, frustration, and – yes – worry. It brought Tony to a momentary standstill in his thought process, and Pepper leapt on the opportunity to press her advantage. “Look, Tony, I just want to help, but I can’t if I don’t have any idea what’s _wrong_ , so-”

Pepper cut herself off as the door opened a few more inches and Loki stepped into the lab, holding a sheaf of papers and looking grim. Upon seeing the papers, Tony felt himself scowling without any conscious decision, and went back to his carving before he said or did something he’d regret. “You might want to read these, Pepper.” Loki suggested in a low voice, barely audible over the rustling of the paper as it was passed over. “Tony, you’re in no fit state to be doing magic right now. Stop that and come talk to us.” He continued, gentling his tone enough that his words sounded more like a suggestion than the order it was phrased as.

Tony’s hold on his tools became white-knuckled as he fought down a surge of exasperation fierce enough that it tasted like anger. “I’m perfectly fine to be doing magic, Loki, and don’t tell me what to do.” He sniped irritably.

“Why are you insisting on bearing this burden alone?” Loki demanded in building frustration. “We’re here for you, and we can help you, if only you’ll let us!”

“Give me a break!” Tony snapped back, patience snapping.

Before he could get any further into the tirade that was building up behind his lips, Pepper sighed out a deeply empathetic “Oh, Tony,” and looked up from the papers in her hands. She was using a tone of voice that told Tony she had put the pieces together from the reports the same as he had. She offered a tentative smile as she tried to reassure him. “We can handle this. You know it’s worlds different from what happened with Obadiah, we just-”

Tony hit the chisel a little too hard at the sound of his old regent’s name, sending a deep gouge through his meticulous work. He had just enough time to throw arms up with an alarmed swear before the tablet exploded into dust, the tiny shards shredding his sleeves along with the skin underneath as they sped through the air. “I’m _fine_!” Tony called hastily over the sound of Pepper’s worried shouts. “I’m just fucking fine.” He muttered with bitter irony.

Loki appeared in his line of sight and gripped his forearm, making the hairline scratches sting under his palm. “You are not fine.” He snapped, lifting Tony’s arm between them to demonstrate his point. Even through all the ferocious anger Loki was showing, Tony could still see something slightly more vulnerable cracking open in his eyes. Something that looked a little bit like genuine fear and concern. “You have spent the last two months prying my defences open and getting me to spill my thoughts and secrets for you, so do not _dare_ to _presume_ that you might be _worthy of that_ if you will only attempt to _hide yourself from me in turn_.”

Tony mouthed wordlessly at him, until he felt a much gentler hand on his shoulder, and then he turned to look into Pepper’s achingly worried eyes. “Tony… we _know_ how much this is hurting you, and- and I know it’s not easy, but you can’t just hide down here and pretend nothing’s happening.” She insisted.

“I can try.” Tony mumbled petulantly, but there was no fight in it, and he punctuated that by the way he slumped into Loki’s hold on him. The grip around his wrist loosened considerably at his surrender, but didn’t vanish entirely, which he was secretly a little grateful for. “What the fuck am I supposed to say about _another_ of my Dukes trying to murder and usurp me?”

“At least we saw this one coming?” Pepper offered with gentle humour.

Tony snorted. Before he could agree, Loki spoke, cool and challenging. “Did you?” He asked, and there was a look in his eyes that suggested he was asking about more than just the obvious.

So Tony actually thought about it. “Well… I knew that Hammer has wanted to overthrow me for _years_ , but… I honestly didn’t expect him to actually try anything. At least, not anything that could even half way be considered a threat. But you saw the messages we intercepted; he’s got Vanko, Killian, Hansen, even _Ross_ backing him, and-”

“Yes. Strange, that.” Loki interrupted pointedly.

Pepper nodded, grimacing. “It’s not like him, Tony. He’s _really_ not charismatic enough to pull off a coup by seducing your nobility out from under you. So what’s going _on_?”

It was a good question, and one Tony didn’t have an answer to. He shrugged helplessly, and was about to make a rude quip when he caught the look on Loki’s face. “You’re thinking crooked thoughts again there, aren’t you?” He asked, dry and curious and a little helplessly fond.

“Well, it seems like a rather incredible coincidence that, at precisely the same time that a usually disciplined military government is falling to chaos in the wake of a power vacuum, a handful of your nobles who are usually far too busy squabbling amongst themselves to be any sort of threat, have banded together under, frankly, an appalling choice of leader in an attempt to stage a coup.” Loki explained mildly.

Pieces fell into place in Tony’s mind like a chain of dominos going off. Pepper was clearly having the same revelation, because her eyes went wide and a hand leapt to her mouth. “You think whoever killed Fury is behind this sudden power-grab?”

“Oh, suddenly things are making so much _sense_.” Tony snarled. “We’re being sabotaged. Someone on the outside is orchestrating this coup and Hammer’s just the fucking figurehead. It’s genius, because if Hammer succeeds, these people already have a puppet on the throne, and he’s easily disposed of if he starts getting his own ideas, but if he fails, Ferronia will still be off-balance and weak in the wake of yet another shift of power.”

Loki nodded, looking grave. “And if their little coup fails, we may still have to worry about an assassination attempt from outside our borders.” He pointed out.

“Someone really wants Ferronia.” Pepper mused in pained awe.

Tony lifted a hand to scrub at his face, before raking his fingers through his hair, leaving it standing up in odd tufts and spikes. “Someone really wants to _cripple_ Ferronia _and Aegis_ , and we still haven’t got any idea who it is.”

“You don’t think the clans of the southern continent might be behind this?” Pepper suggested.

Tony pulled a deeply sceptical face at her, but Pepper merely stared back, insisting on the idea, so Tony rolled his eyes. “The southern clans are really, _really_ not this organised, Pep. It’s little more than a bunch of Warlords running around killing each other. Even their alliances have more backstabbing going on than actual cooperation.”

“So far.” Pepper interjected.

Loki jumped in before Tony could say something scathing. “Perhaps you should suggest to the Lord-Navarch that he send a handful of spies and scouts to the southern continent to investigate?” He suggested. “That way we could know for certain what the political state of the clans are, and proceed from there instead of relying on speculation?”

“Good plan.” Tony agreed. “I was going to send Coulson a letter anyway about Skye, so, I’ll rewrite it with that in somewhere. Later.” He added, when Pepper went to open her mouth. She gave him a playfully stern look, but didn’t protest. Tony offered her a grateful smile before blowing out a heavy sigh. “I’m starting to think Coulson had the right idea, there.”

“About sending Skye to us?” Loki queried, one eyebrow arching.

“About getting his kid to somewhere that’s at least a little bit safer than where he _knows_ someone is painting a great big target.” Tony corrected. “I just… if Hammer moves, or this assassin comes… After me, Darcy’s the next target, because you can bet your ass she’s not going to be some push-over High Queen they can manipulate.”

“Well that is true.” Loki agreed wryly, making Tony grin.

“You know she’s not going to be happy about being sent away from danger.” Pepper pointed out with a grimace. “If you want her to go, you’re going to have to make it worth her while.”

Loki clicked his tongue in annoying. “I was going to suggest sending the both of them to manage your estate at Vulcana.” He announced, glancing at Pepper. “But I doubt that would be sufficient bribe for Her Highness to accept.” He concluded with a faintly mocking lilt to the title and a fond smile tugging at his lips.

Snorting, Tony was about to agree when a thought occurred to him. “I know what would be sufficient bribe.” He announced, starting to grin smugly. Pepper made a questioning sound, and Tony’s grin got wider. “And it kills two birds with one stone.” The sound Pepper made then was more impatient than curious. “I make Bruce the new Duke of Vulcana.” Tony announced simply, feeling rather proud of himself for the idea.

Both of his lovers looked confused at first, but slowly it started to dawn on Loki what Tony was planning. “You empower those you know to be loyal to you, with good enough reason that it shouldn’t elicit too much suspicion from those plotting against you, and you can send Darcy to help him get settled without her feeling shunned at all. Very sneaky.” Loki complimented.

“JARVIS, how fast can we get this to happen?” Tony asked.

There was a momentary pause as JARVIS considered. “The most expedient way of implementing your plan would be to have Her Highness travel to the Gimel estate to convey his new title to High Count Banner, and assist him in the move to his new residence. In which case, Her Highness could leave as soon as this evening, if she’s willing.” There was a healthy dose of scepticism in JARVIS’s voice on the last point.

Tony jumped to his feet, feeling energised with the prospect of the beginnings of a workable plan. “Alright, I’ll go tell her, then finish that letter to Coulson.” He announced. Then he leaned in to kiss first Loki, who looked startled at first but was as smug as a cat in a sunbeam by the time Tony pulled away, then Pepper, who had amused light dancing in her eyes as she moved to meet him. “Thank you.” He said to both of them, more sincere than he usually managed.

“You don’t need to thank us for this, Tony.” Pepper informed him. “But you’re welcome.”

Tony was grinning helplessly when Loki grabbed his jaw and turned him to look at him again, a mock-stern expression on his face. “Thank us by not being such an idiot next time.” He instructed, then kissed Tony again.

“No promises.” Tony retorted.

Pepper laughed at them both, shaking her head as she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “This is an excellent plan, Tony, but it still leaves us with Peter and Skye to worry about.” She pointed out.

Tony sobered a little as he thought about that. “I’m… not quite as worried about them, since Peter isn’t my heir, and Skye isn’t from that sort of aristocracy anyway. But uh… definitely still worried.” He acknowledged, pulling a face. “Peter might accept being sent away for his own safety where Darcy wouldn’t-”

“He would pretend to accept it then sneak back later in the mistaken belief that he would somehow be able to help by doing so.” Loki deadpanned, looking unimpressed. Tony turned to him, startled by the complete assurance that Loki was speaking with, until he actually thought about it. Then he was forced to admit that he was most likely right.

A stumped silence swelled between them, all three of them becoming increasingly more resigned as the silence lengthened. “Perhaps we can get him a bodyguard?” Pepper suggested with some reluctance at the half-hearted nature of the solution. “He can hardly protest that, and it will at least give us time to consider other options. And even if we do figure out a way to get him somewhere safer, his bodyguard can go with him as well.”

“It’s better than nothing.” Loki concurred.

Tony nodded, accepting Pepper’s suggestion as the best option at the moment, although he spared a moment to wish he could spare his children any danger at all. “Okay, JARVIS, get Rhodey to come see me on my way to talk to Darcy. We can chat about potential bodyguards while I figure out how to explain this without making it seem like I’m sending her away.” He decided.

“And I will pen a missive to advise our Questors to keep a closer – but discrete – eye on these particular nobles.” Loki added, flicking a finger against the edge of the reports, a darkly predatory look in his eyes as he contemplated the problem.

Pepper sighed, not fully managing to mask her amusement. “And _I_ will go and finish your work for you.” She informed Tony. She became a lot more serious when Tony lit up with excitement. “ _Just this once!_ ” She insisted sternly, pointing a warning finger at him.

“You’re the best, Pep.” Tony called over his shoulder as he left the lab.

“You owe me!” Pepper called after him.

Tony waved a hand vaguely in the air behind him to show that he’d heard her, but then he was out of the door and taking the stairs up two at a time. “Where’s Darcy, J?”

“Her Highness is currently in the stables. You may wish to hurry if you wish to speak with her before she heads out on her ride.” JARVIS responded. “And General Rhodes will join you once you reach the antechamber.” He added, not even a little bit smug at his coordination skills, which Tony privately thought he should be. That a creation of his could have so little ego was strange and baffling.

“You’re a work of art, J.” Tony complimented.

“How very modest of you, sire.” JARVIS responded, in perfectly dry tones of irony.

Tony reached the top of the stairs, crossed the study there, and walked into the antechamber to find Rhodey waiting for him, looking impatient. “Tony, what do you want? Unlike some people around here, I’m actually busy.” He snarked.

Barely pausing, Tony strode right past him with a gesture for Rhodey to join him. The other man did, albeit with a roll of his eyes. “So, shit is starting to pile up in a bad way, and I think Peter ought to have a permanent bodyguard for the foreseeable future. Any recommendations?” Tony asked without preamble.

Rhodey faltered, then frowned at him. “Tony…” He began warily. “What’s going on?”

“Can’t you just answer the question?”

“No.” Rhodey announced bluntly. “Not when whatever’s wrong has got you in a state like this. I haven’t seen you this frantic since-” He cut himself off suddenly, eyes widening with bleak understanding.

“Yeah.” Tony confirmed grimly. “Only with a bigger risk of sneaky assassins, and slightly less personal betrayal.” He added, just to see that flash of steel-laced not-quite-fear in Rhodey’s eyes that told him his friend understood the severity of the situation. “So. Peter. Bodyguard.” He finished, bringing them back on point.

“Well, I was going to suggest Luke, but if you’re more worried about assassins, you probably want Matt.” Rhodey decided, barely needing a moment to think about it.

“The blind guy?” Tony checked.

“The blind guy.” Rhodey confirmed dryly.

Tony cast a glance across at Rhodey, who met his look with a perfectly serious deadpan. “Okay. Go tell him he’s been promoted, then introduce him to Peter, okay? I’ve got to go tell Darcy that she gets to bestow the Duchy of Vulcana on her favourite noble.” That said, Tony sped up, leaving Rhodey behind. Rhodey slowed down with a frown on his face as he tried to understand what that had to do with anything.

* * *

Even when he was young and full of dreams far too big for him, Matt had never actually imagined that he would ever wind up here. Especially after the accident that left him blind, any of his old hopes for his future had been dashed. And yet, thanks to his naturally tenacious streak and Foggy’s help and encouragement, here he was, a bodyguard to a High Prince.

When asked for the High Prince’s location, JARVIS informed them that he was in the library, so that was where Matt was currently headed, walking side by side with General Rhodes, who was outlining Matt’s new duties. Despite the details, the job itself was a simple one; stay with the High Prince and make sure no harm comes to him.

Upon reaching the library, Matt took a moment to absorb the ambience of the place. It was the first time he’d stepped foot in the library, having no use for books himself anymore, but he found that he rather liked the room. He could tell that the doors were large, almost as large as the front doors of the castle, yet they opened almost soundlessly at JARVIS’s will as they approached. Only the merest whisper of air moving and the subtle peak in the hum of the magic in the walls gave away that the doors had been shut before their approach.

The room was large, several stories high, to judge by the weight of the air, and the many rows of shelves created an interesting dampening of echoes that had Matt unconsciously loosening the muscles in his shoulders and neck. For once, just the sound of people breathing didn’t sound quite so cacophonous as usual.

In the new and blissful quiet, it was remarkably easy to pinpoint the location of the hushed conversation from within the library. “JARVIS, where exactly in the library is Peter?” General Rhodes asked, dryly resigned.

Before JARVIS could answer, Matt pointed in the direction the voices – one masculine, recognisably the High Prince’s, and eager as a newborn foal, the High Prince tripping over his words without much care, and the other feminine and spirited, deeply enthusiastic about whatever was being discussed – were coming from. “Second floor, on the left… three aisles down.”

“Quite so, sir.” JARVIS confirmed.

General Rhodes shook his head as he set off in the direction Matt had indicated. “I’m still getting used to you doing that.” He announced, sounding vaguely disbelieving in a way that Matt had always enjoyed evoking in people. The stairs to the upper levels of the library were some of the larger spiral staircases Matt had come across, but they were still built into solid stone, so they still felt close and strange, given the way echoes tended to bounce off the curved walls.

Once on the second floor, it wasn’t hard at all to find the High Prince. From the rapid and varied rustling sounds of pages being turned, both he and his companion were reading around three books each and still debating in hushed voices right up until General Rhodes and Matt came to a stop beside the desk they were clustered around. “Hey, General Rhodes. Sir Murdock.” The girl greeted, and there was an aborted yelp of shock from the other side of the table.

There was a muted thump, the sound of leather slipping against wood, and Matt darted forwards to catch the book before it hit the floor. Moving more slowly now, Matt straightened and proffered the book to the High Prince. “Oh, um, thank you. Sorry. You just startled me. A little warning next time would be nice, JARVIS.” The High Prince rambled.

“You’re welcome, Highness.” Matt replied, deciding the rest really didn’t need a response.

“I wasn’t aware that you required an alert for company, Your Highness. If you are going to engage in discussions of _secret_ projects, perhaps you should inform me so I do not make such an oversight again?” JARVIS mused with his unique brand of deadpan sass.

“It’s not _secret_!” The High Prince protested. “I was just _absorbed_ in it, so people just popping up beside me like ghosts is not appreciated.”

“Like father, like son.” General Rhodes interjected dryly. Going by the little up-tick in the High Prince’s heartbeat at that, he took it as more of a compliment than it was really intended. “Speaking of your father; that’s actually why I’m here.” General Rhodes continued.

“So, should I leave, or…?” The girl jumped in to ask.

“No need.” General Rhodes assured her.

“Is everything alright?” The High Prince inquired, and he sounded distinctly worried. The rustling of his clothes telling Matt that he was now leaning forwards, fully engaged in the conversation.

Apparently, the High Prince was something of a worrier, because General Rhodes’ response to that was a quick assurance of “No one’s hurt or in immediate danger, Peter, don’t worry.” The High Prince blew out a relieved sigh and sat back again. “Your dad is having a bit of trouble with some stuff that he’s not deigning to explain just yet, but he’s decided to assign you a bodyguard until things settle down some.” He went on to explain.

“That’s where I come in.” Matt added, flashing a quick smile in the Prince’s direction, followed by a shallow, but polite, bow. “I am at your service, Your Highness.”

“Oh-kay…” The High Prince said slowly, baffled but not particularly displeased. “Um, it’s good to meet you. Rhodey, what’s going on, why do I need a bodyguard?” He asked sharply, his voice holding, for the first time Matt had heard, just a hint of the authority he wielded as a High Prince of Ferronia.

“Do you think I’d have half these grey hairs if Tony ever actually explained himself to me? I don’t know, Peter, it seemed like he was a little worried about a potential coup, but I could be wrong. He just wants to make sure you’re safe.” General Rhodes replied. The High Prince made a small sound of sudden understanding. “Yeah. Well, I’ve got a lot of stuff to do, so I’ll see you later.” He said to the group at large, footsteps already beginning to retreat from the table.

“Sir.” Matt said by way of farewell, while the Prince and his friend called less formal goodbyes after the man.

There was a momentary silence between the three of them. While Matt was perfectly content with the silence, he could tell from their minute shifting that the other two were getting uncomfortable. “So.” The High Prince’s companion burst out suddenly. “You’re the famous Blind Knight. I saw you fight at the tournament; you were amazing.”

Matt smiled at her, flattered by the compliment. “Thank you. You have me at a disadvantage there. I’m afraid, if we’ve met, I can’t place you.” He informed her apologetically.

“Oh, right. I’m Skye- Lady-Captain Skye Coulson, of Aegis, but I just go by Skye to most people.” The girl, Skye, informed him. What followed was a heavily awkward pause as she went to hold a hand out, then realised what she was doing, and hesitated.

Amused, Matt saved her the trouble, and proffered his own hand towards her instead. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lady-Captain.” She shook his hand with surprising strength, then kicked out a chair for him after she’d retracted her hand, the sound of the chair’s legs scraping against the stone floor was loud in the quiet of the library. “Thank you.” Matt murmured as he found the back of the chair with unerring precision and positioned it more carefully before he sat down.

“So, do you know anything about magic, Matt? Can I call you Matt?” Skye asked, rapid-fire and energetic. Matt imagined it would take a lot to keep this girl down for any length of time.

“I know enough to not blow myself up when using enchanted weapons or armour, but not much more than that, unfortunately.” Matt replied with a faintly apologetic smile.

“Are your nunchucks enchanted?” The High Prince asked, curious.

“Some basic resilience and durability spells, mostly. Nothing fancy.”

Matt could feel the High Prince’s gaze on him now, his curiosity piqued by Matt’s reply. “So that really was all you, in the tournament?” He asked, and while from a lot of people that question could have been insulting, the distinctly impressed and awed tone he was using took the edge off his words.

“Ah, yes. It was all me.” Matt confirmed with a small laugh.

“How?”

Matt couldn’t help but laugh a little at the honest confusion and interest in the High Prince’s voice. “You’d be surprised just how much you rely on your sight when you don’t need to.” He answered mildly. “It took a lot of practice, I won’t lie, but my hearing and sense of touch make up for most of what I miss, lacking sight.”

“Is that how you caught that book?” Skye jumped in, more overtly eager in her curiosity.

Matt nodded. “Yes, I could hear it slip off the desk.”

“And that told you exactly where it was?” The High Prince asked, a touch disbelieving.

Matt nodded again. “I couldn’t have done it when I still had my sight, but it’s easy to locate things from the sounds they make and the pattern of echoes off the things around them.” He explained.

“Your hearing is really that acute?” The High Prince inquired.

“Yes. I can hear a human heartbeat from fifty paces away. ” Matt confirmed, tilting his head a little to better catch the sound of the High Prince’s heartbeat. He heard the exact moment the High Prince realised what that meant, the tiny gasp of shock he gave as the realisation sank in. “It’s not always particularly helpful, but it has it’s uses.”

“I’ll bet.” Skye said, appreciation thick in her voice.

The High Prince was quiet a little longer. Then he swallowed, and asked with almost painful hesitance “Doesn’t- I mean, doesn’t that… bother you? I can’t imagine it would make concentrating very easy, if you can hear that much?”

Matt felt an unexpected flare of gratitude at the High Prince’s concern, and it made his answer come out a little more raw and bluntly honest than he’d intended. “Concentration I have a lot of practice at. It’s sleeping I still have trouble with.” He admitted, then wished he hadn’t. It wasn’t the best thing for him to tell someone who’s safety depended on his staying sharp and focused.

“Well, uh, if there’s anything I can do to help-” The High Prince began, only to cut himself off at a snort from Skye. Once he realised the source of her mirth, he immediately backtracked, audibly flustered. “-I _meant_ , I’m pretty good at _magic,_ so I could try soundproofing your bedroom, or some- something, not- _Skye_! You know what I- It’s not funny!”

“Yeah, it really is, Peter. That? That was gold.” Skye informed him, giggling.

“I hate you so much.” Peter bemoaned, muffled in a way that suggested he’d dropped his head down to hide it in his folded arms. “Why would you do this to me?”

“Sorry.” Skye replied, not sounding particularly apologetic. “Sorry, I just-”

“Yeah, okay.” Peter grumbled into his arms. “Can we just drop it, now? Please? Pretty please?”

Matt took that as his cue. “Thank you for your concern, Highness, but I’ll manage. If I change my mind, though, I’ll be sure to let you know.” He interjected, a little of his own wry – and slightly exasperated – humour bleeding through in his voice.

Peter’s head popped up, as evidenced by the clearness of his voice when he next spoke. “We’re going to be spending the next however-long in each other’s company, you know, you don’t have to stand on ceremony.” For all that he’d been so heartily embarrassed before, he didn’t sound it much now, far too much sincerity in his voice to make room for something like shame. “You can call me Peter. At least, when we’re not at public events and the like.”

Matt mulled it over, weighing his sense of professionalism against the fact that, after this, he didn’t think he’d be able to genuinely think of Peter as merely ‘the High Prince’ ever again. “Alright. Peter.” He agreed, and he just _knew_ that Peter was beaming at him.

* * *

The Gimel estate was one of the most remote noble estates in Ferronia. The road to it wound laboriously up the side of a slope steep enough to be worthy of being called a cliff, while it’s expansive tiered gardens were surrounded by a tangle of wild pine forests and yet more cliffs, and the city that it ostensibly belonged to was several leagues further down the foothills of the mountains it was built on. It was one of Darcy’s favourite places to visit, and that was only in part due to the sole resident of the estate being one High Count Bruce Banner.

It was a wild place, and Darcy enjoyed the fresh mountain air and the freedom she could find here. She would be a little sad when Bruce moved to Vulcana, and this estate got handed off to someone else. The place suited him. However, she was also sure that Vulcana would be very good for him. The estate itself had large enough grounds that he could maintain his privacy without being quite as isolated as he was up here. Plus it was a lot warmer in Vulcana, without the biting winds that howled through all the little valleys in these mountains.

“Do you think Bruce will be pleased about receiving the Dukedom?” Jane asked, and Darcy dragged her attention away from the impressive view of the valley out of the carriage window to look over at the other woman. Jane was sitting opposite in her in the carriage, taking advantage of the self-inking pens Tony had created to jot down ideas as they came to her even in a moving carriage.

Darcy snorted. “Probably not. He likes it up here, and he’s gonna be annoyed at Dad for making him move. But he’ll do it anyway, because Dad’s been a good friend to him and he feels like he owes Dad something. Which he doesn’t, not really, but try telling him that.” She concluded with a fond roll of her eyes.

“You know, I don’t know why you keep indulging your crush on him.” Jane remarked, blunt as ever. Darcy had known her long enough not to be offended by her presumptive bluntness in dissecting and offering advice on Darcy’s life. It was, actually, something she’d come to appreciate for the ruthless honesty of it, even if they disagreed on things, loudly, with startling regularity.

“Why shouldn’t I? It’s not like he’s married,” Darcy pointed out, “and I’m trying to seduce him away from a happy relationship or anything. I just… It’s _really_ stupid for someone so amazing to be deliberately making himself miserable, and I think I could help with that. I’ve been told it’s very hard for people to be miserable around me.”

“But he’s _not interested_. He’s told you that _a lot_ , Darcy.” Jane stressed, looking up from her notes to frown at the High Princess with a mixture of censure and concern. “I just think you’re hurting yourself, and him, with this, and maybe you ought to stop and take a step back.”

“He’s told me _it’s not a good idea_ , but he’s never actually managed to lie to my face and tell me he’s not _interested_.” Darcy corrected blithely. Then the rest of Jane’s words sank in and she frowned right back at her friend. “Wait, how am I hurting who now?”

Jane sighed. “You don’t _know_ whether he’s interested in you specifically or not, but you _do_ know that he’s not interested in a relationship. Whether that’s because he doesn’t want to, or he thinks he shouldn’t, either way you’re hurting him when you keep flirting with him. And you’re only building up your own hopes, which is only going to make the crash harder when it comes. The further you fall, the more it hurts when you hit the ground.”

“Okay, I like how there’s all these great big steaming piles of bullshit mixed in with your reasonableness.” Darcy announced indignantly. Jane opened her mouth angrily, but Darcy steamrolled on, raising her voice a little to stop Jane from interrupting. “One? My flirting is almost entirely playful banter. I’m not _actually_ being serious, and since Bruce is friends with Dad, he _really_ ought to be able to recognise that by now. Two? I am actually making peace with the idea that we will never be more than friends, I get that he has issues, and I’m not going to push – too hard, at least – but that doesn’t mean I’m going to _stop_ being his friend just because it kind of breaks my heart that he’s keeping me at arms length. Three? I don’t think this is ever going to go away, Jane, so I might as well revel in it, instead of resenting the hell out of it.”

Jane blinked at her, eyes suddenly wide with dawning understanding. “Oh. You’ve actually fallen in love with him.” She breathed in shock.

Heat flooded Darcy’s cheeks and she looked sharply away, turning her gaze – but not her focus – back to the view outside the window. “Yeah. Maybe. Probably. I think?” She hedged, before she caught a glimpse of Jane’s unimpressed expression out of the corner of her eye, and wilted. “Yes, okay? I’ve fallen _hard_ and I’m not even sorry.”

Shaking her head at Darcy’s defensiveness, Jane went back to her notes, tacitly letting the subject drop in deference to Darcy’s discomfort. They had just crested the top of the cliff and started down the short drive to the front door of the manor house, when Jane finally spoke again, not looking up from her scribbles. “Don’t ever ask me to be your third.”

Darcy choked on her laughter, startled and entertained in equal measure. “Last time I suggested that, you said maybe, under the right circumstances.” She reminded her, voice shaking a little with mirth.

“Bruce is not the right circumstances.” Jane replied. “I respect him and his intellect, and we work well together, but I don’t think I could ever like him like that. Frankly, he intimidates me.”

“Fair. I think you intimidate him, too.” Darcy agreed.

Jane’s head snapped up. “How?”

“You’re tiny and spitfire and don’t hold back when you’re mad.” Darcy informed Jane with a winning smile. “I think he’d be afraid you’d wind up breaking each other.” She paused, and her smile became a grimace. “Of course, that’s pretty much what he’s always afraid of, but I think it would be more with you because you’re so fierce all the time.”

“You’re not exactly known for biting your tongue when you’re upset.” Jane pointed out, bemused, as the carriage rolled gently to a stop.

“Yeah, but the _rest_ of the time, I’m pretty easy-going, and I don’t get angry all that easily, you know? I’m more likely to just shrug it off.” Darcy explained, and Jane nodded. “You only have two settings; you’re either so fascinated you look like you want to rip something apart to see how it works, or you don’t care enough to give it the time of day. No in between.” Jane looked a mite sheepish. “Which is _awesome_ , except it’s also terrifying, a little bit.”

“Point taken.” Jane agreed, reluctantly amused.

Nodding in an overly-dramatic, regal fashion, Darcy promptly leaned over and opened the door to hop out, nearly smacking their footman in the face as he went to do the proper thing and open the door for them from the outside. Darcy tossed out a quick, earnest apology, but most of her focus was already on the front doors of the estate, which were being opened by the High Count. “Bruce!” Darcy called in enthusiastic greeting, picking up her skirts with a complete disregard for elegance in order to reach him fast and greet him properly.

As she approached, however, Darcy couldn’t help but notice that Bruce looked even more strained than usual. The lines around his eyes were deeper than she’d ever seen them before, and his hands had the faintest tremor that could be either from stress or exhaustion. Possibly both. “Good afternoon, Your Highness.” Bruce greeted with a tight smile.

Darcy slowed as she approached him, worry overcoming her, until she stopped a polite distance in front of him. She have preferred to greet him with a hug, but she got the feeling that now was maybe not the time to push boundaries. “It’s Darcy, Bruce.” She reminded him gently. “Are you okay?”

Even before he opened his mouth, Darcy could tell he was lying. “Fine. I’m just a little harried, because I only got the message that you would be visiting this morning.” He told her, stepping out of the doorway to gesture her – and Jane, as she stepped up with the most essential of Darcy’s bags, leaving the rest to the footmen and Bruce’s handful of servants – inside the manor. “Hello, Jane.” He greeted, and got a similar, if slightly more respectful, greeting in turn.

“You know, Dad’s not going to _force you_ to take the Duchy, if you really don’t want it that badly.” Darcy informed him casually as she stepped into the foyer. It was tasteful, yet remarkably Spartan for someone with as much inherited wealth as Bruce. But then, he had never really enjoyed the trappings of finery, Darcy knew.

Bruce fumbled over nothing in particular, then huffed a small, self-deprecating laugh. “Sometimes I think my memory of how blunt you can be can’t possibly be accurate.” He remarked dryly, but the look he shot Darcy was full of barely-restrained warmth.

Trying to ignore the ache that ignited in her chest after her conversation with Jane in the carriage, Darcy beamed at Bruce. “And then you remember that you should never, ever underestimate a Stark?” She prompted brightly. Jane vanished up the stairs, already familiar enough with the estate from Darcy’s previous visits that she knew which guest room Darcy would be staying in. Meanwhile, Bruce led Darcy into the nearest parlour, where there was a small snack buffet being laid out for them.

“Something like that.” Bruce agreed, laughing under his breath.

“So, _do_ you hate the idea of being the High Duke of Vulcana that much?” Darcy asked, refusing to let him get away with dodging the subject as she seated herself on the sofa in front of the fire and patted the space beside her in obvious invitation.

Instead of sitting, Bruce chose instead to hover by the mantel, and he would have struck a very impressive figure if his shoulders hadn’t been hunched slightly, and his head perpetually ducked in an attempt to make himself seem smaller than he was. He sighed heavily, and one hand came up to pinch his nose, dislodging his reading glasses a little, and leaving them lopsided as he lowered his hand again. “I don’t _like_ it,” he admitted reluctantly, “but your father knows that, so he wouldn’t ask unless it was important. I _do_ want to help him, if I can, so I will do it, but… No, I’m not very happy about it.” He concluded ruefully.

“We can plot petty revenge, if it’ll make you feel better. Vulcana is famous for it’s vineyards, maybe you should only send him the worst batches from now on?” Darcy suggested, and she was pleased when a laugh shook off some of the tension clinging to Bruce.

“I’m not a fan of petty revenge, but it’s a nice idea, at any rate.” Bruce replied, a gentle rebuke wrapped in gratitude. Then he sighed again. “It’s just… really bad timing.” He mused, more to himself than to Darcy.

It still struck her as odd. “Bad timing?” She questioned.

Her curiosity was only stoked to greater heights when Bruce stiffened slightly at her inquiry. It wasn’t dramatic, just a tiny tightening of his shoulders and his mouth, but it was enough that Darcy noticed. “Nothing, sorry.” Bruce lied. “I don’t know why I even said that.”

“Because secretly you want to tell me?” Darcy suggested, in a tone that was a bizarre mix of matter-of-fact and hopeful.

Bruce shot her a look that suggested he couldn’t quite tell if she was joking or not. Darcy just looked back, patient and expectant, until he caved. “I have… responsibilities, here, that I… I don’t want to just abandon- I _can’t_ just abandon.” He explained hesitantly, rubbing a hand over his lower face to hide his grimace.

“That’s why High Baroness Cho is going to be inheriting your title. So that nothing here gets neglected. You don’t have to worry about things here, you know, she’s very dedicated, she’ll take care of everything.” Darcy assured him.

It didn’t seem to help very much. Bruce just shook his head. “That’s not what I- Never mind.” He dismissed the topic a bit more firmly this time, but Darcy wasn’t having it.

“What did you mean then?” She asked, leaning forward in her seat to frown at Bruce, trying to decipher his expression. He remained closed off, however, broadcasting nothing except weariness and discomfort. Darcy sort of wanted to shake him for taking so much on himself, all the time, without ever stopping to consider that he had people he could trust to help him carry the burdens he’d been forced to shoulder.

“He means me.”

The deep voice coming from the doorway caused both Darcy and Bruce to startle and whip around to stare at the source. Navarch Nicholas J. Fury stood there, dressed in little more than sleep pants and a dressing gown draped about his shoulders like a cape. He was leaning heavily on a cane in his left hand, while his right was bandaged and resting in a sling against his equally bandage-clad chest. There was a large, neatly stitched, and half-healed cut across one side of his forehead, long enough to graze along the side of his bad eye. When he stepped a little further into the room, he was limping with the sort of dignified grace that suggested a bone-deep ache rather than sharper, fresher pains.

And he was very clearly alive.

While Darcy was still staring at Navarch Fury blankly, her mouth agape as she processed, Bruce leapt forwards to brace him, and help him into the largest, cushiest chair by the fire. “Nick! You should be _resting_. It’s only been a few weeks, you need to give yourself time to heal before you start throwing yourself about again.”

Navarch Fury gave Bruce a very droll look, but allowed himself to be manoeuvred into the chair with resigned dignity. “I’m hardly ‘throwing myself about’, Bruce. I walked downstairs. That’s it. You said I’m off bed-rest, so I _am_ allowed to do that now, remember?”

As they left Navarch Fury’s shoulders, Bruce’s hands abruptly clenched into fists. A moment later, they relaxed slowly, in time with a steadying exhale. “I _also_ said that the High Princess was arriving, and you should probably stay out of sight until we leave in a few days.” Bruce reminded him, visibly biting back his frustration.

“Evidently, it wouldn’t have mattered either way.” Navarch Fury responded, sounding deeply unimpressed as he looked between Bruce and Darcy. Bruce looked away sharply, but Darcy didn’t miss the flush creeping up the back of his neck. “I didn’t think you’d be able to keep a secret from her.” Navarch Fury added pointedly. “So we might as well not dance around the subject. I was planning on letting a few people know I was alive soon, anyway.”

“ _How_?!” Darcy burst out, finally recovering her voice.

Both men turned to stare at her, a little startled by her outburst. Navarch Fury recovered first, with a dark little smile lifting one corner of his lips. “Skill, deception, and a good deal of luck.” He informed Darcy mildly.

“ _Why_?!” Darcy tried a different question, to see if that got her a more informative answer.

“Because someone actually managed to get close enough to me to _try to kill me_.” Navarch Fury stressed the point, eye flashing. “If they knew they’d failed, they’d just try again. But now they think they’ve succeeded, I can get a better idea of what they’re planning. And they won’t be expecting me when I stick a knife in their back. That’s useful, too.”

Darcy stared at him for a long moment, digest that, before she nodded slowly. “Okay, but why come all this way to Bruce? There had to be easier places you could have gone?” She wondered, trying to read Navarch Fury’s expression. She wasn’t getting anything from him.

“I needed someone I could trust.” Navarch Fury said simply.

Darcy blinked in surprise, as Bruce ducked his head against what she figured was probably a mixture of pleased embarrassment and acute unworthiness. “Well, I can’t fault your taste,” Darcy began, easily matter-of-fact enough that it got her a startled but flattered look from Bruce, “but surely you have some people you can trust in Aegis? Lady-Admiral Hill? Lord-Navarch Coulson? Lord-Admiral Rogers?”

Navarch Fury grimaced. “That assassin didn’t get to me without inside help. Whoever sent him has spies, connections, strings _everywhere_. There are a lot of people I trust to a certain degree, some to a greater degree than others, but there’s only three people in the world I trust to _never_ lie to me, no matter what. One of them is missing. One of them is acting as my eyes and ears back in Aegis. After she arranged my transport here, to the last.”

It took Darcy a moment to translate that. “Rogers, Hill and Bruce?” She checked, and Navarch Fury nodded solemnly. “I didn’t know the two of you were such good friends?” Darcy asked, looking between them curiously.

Bruce smiled, a tiny little bashful smile that Darcy wanted to tuck into her pocket for whenever she was feeling miserable. It lit up his face like very little else did. “Neither did I.” Bruce admitted wryly.

Navarch Fury rolled his eyes. “You think far too little of yourself, Bruce. You are a painfully honest man, because you can’t afford to be anything else. That is a very, very rare thing, and I appreciate it as such.”

For a moment, it looked as though Bruce might protest that assessment, but then he slumped in resignation. “I want to argue with you, but I can’t figure out how. I hate it when you do that to me, you know.” He announced, aiming for resentment and falling a bit short. Navarch Fury just looked at him, bland and a tiny bit smug.

“How did you do that?” Darcy asked in awe.

Fury turned to stare at her, one eyebrow arched. “Do what?”

“Get him to accept that he’s an amazing person worth all the appreciation and affection you give him?” Darcy elaborated. “I’ve been trying to tell him that for _years_ , and he always brushes me off with the most painful self-deprecating crap ever. Teach me your ways!” She pleaded.

“Darcy…!” Bruce groaned.

A small laugh escaped Fury. “If you watch closely, I’m sure you’ll pick up a few of the tactics I use.” He told Darcy magnanimously. Darcy nodded, fighting to keep a solemn and determined expression on her face when all she wanted to do was laugh at Bruce’s incredulity.

Bruce cleared his throat, and gestured to the food laid out on the table. “Is anyone hungry?” He asked, in a transparent attempt to change the subject. Darcy and Fury shared a look, silently agreeing to let him get away with it. Fury moved to get up and help himself to the food, but Bruce put a hand on his shoulder. “No, stay put. I’ll fetch a plate for you.” He insisted.

“Do as the man says.” Darcy advised. “You look more exhausted than he does.”

“Thank you for that, Darcy.” Bruce muttered sarcastically as he started putting together a platter of snacks under Fury’s muttered direction.

Darcy shrugged irreverently and stood to get her own plate of food. “You know that I think you ought to take better care of yourself. Or let someone else take care of you for a while. A little rest and relaxation, and you’d feel so much less worn thin.” She insisted.

Bruce shook his head, and Darcy dropped it, knowing better than to push the issue. It would only make Bruce dig his heels in even more. Instead she returned to her seat and allowed the conversation to drift through plans for relocating Fury to Vulcana along with Bruce, without letting too many people know that he was there in the first place. It was when Bruce and Fury were bickering about whether to bring the handful of servants Bruce kept along with them or not, a question occurred to Darcy and she blurted it out, interrupting Fury without a thought, and ignoring the ensuing look of indignant offence.

“If you’re so worried about spies in the nobility, why did you decide to trust me with the knowledge that you’re here?”

The question was apparently poignant enough that it dampened Fury’s annoyance at being interrupted. After thinking about it carefully, Fury finally picked the simplest answer; “Because Bruce trusts you.” Darcy suddenly understood why Bruce didn’t seem to be able to handle the knowledge of how much trust Fury put in him. She was feeling very uncomfortably warm and fuzzy. Feigning obliviousness to her emotional turmoil, Fury continued in a thoughtful tone; “And better you find out now, than him trying to keep the secret and hurting the both of you with it.”

Swallowing past the complicated knot of emotions making itself at home in her chest, Darcy forced her mind back onto the important things. “Okay. So, why don’t you two catch me up on everything you know, so that I can actually help, instead of sitting here like a damp mushroom while you two bicker?” She prompted briskly. After a beat of startled silence, both men smiled slowly, and then did exactly as she’d suggested.


	3. In Which There Is A Kidnapping

Having spent nearly half her life in cities that flew, it really shouldn’t have come as a surprise to Skye that, when on the ground, she gravitated towards high places. The highest tower of Barzilai castle was very high indeed, and had – of all things – a laboratory on the topmost floor, encircled by a narrow balcony. Skye had taken one look at the waist-high parapet that surrounded the balcony and then swung herself up to sit on it, her legs dangling out into empty air.

This prompted several minutes of spirited debate with JARVIS about her relative safety, which Skye won by the underhanded tactic of amusing JARVIS so much he forgot to be worried. “You know, this has been the longest I’ve spent on the ground since I was ten.” She remarked into the ensuing silence.

“I imagine you must be quite homesick.” JARVIS commented, gentle and a touch uncertain, subtly asking if he was making too many assumptions.

Skye nodded. “Yeah. A bit.” She paused, then went on in a rush. “I mean, it’s not like- The strangest part is not noticing I’m not in the air until I look outside and I can see _mountains_ in the distance. There’s a horizon out there that isn’t… defined by the limits of the city.”

JARVIS made a thoughtful sound, edged in amusement, that had Skye grinning before he even verbalised his thoughts. “Perhaps I should endeavour to learn how to fly.” He mused, and Skye tried to muffle her laughter behind her hand.

“Tony would certainly enjoy the challenge of getting his castle to fly.” She commented, then patted lightly at the stone she was sitting on. “But I think you’re pretty awesome just the way you are, J, no improvements necessary.”

“I, ah-…” JARVIS began, then paused, struggling for words. “Thank you, Skye.” He finished eventually, sounding touched and soft with sincerity. Skye patted the stone again, staring out at the horizon and doing her absolute best not to pay any heed to the warmth in her cheeks. “Might I inquire as to how your project is coming along?” JARVIS asked, finding a new subject of conversation before the silence could draw on long enough to become awkward.

Skye seized on the topic gratefully. “I think it’s almost done, actually. I finished those sigils you designed for me this morning, so now all that’s really left is making it pretty. Maybe some inlays in the sigils, or something? Then a coat or five of lacquer to make sure it won’t get damaged, but I’d like to test it before I do anything like that. Just in case, you know, someone sabotaged it, since obviously neither of us would do something like make a mistake.” She mocked playfully, and JARVIS gave a very dignified hum of amused scepticism. “Maybe I can convince Loki to give me a riding lesson sometime soon, and I can try it then.” She suggested cheekily while idly tugging the half-completed pendant over her head and turning it over in her fingers.

It was an amulet made of sanded snakewood, in the shape of a convex disk small enough to fit into her palm, framed with a simple rim of silver that hung on a leather thong around her neck. The disk itself was covered in tiny, painstakingly precise sigils and symbols, each line and curve and angle carefully calculated for the optimum effect in the smallest space.

“You’re wearing it?” JARVIS asked, sounding surprised.

Skye nodded. “Yeah, I mean, that’s why I made it a pendant.” She sassed at him, grinning.

JARVIS got two syllables into a reply, before he cut himself off abruptly. Skye had a single heartbeat to process the thrill of alarm his sudden silence sent through her, and then an unearthly shrieking vibrated through the entire castle. Suddenly feeling unsafe on stones that were literally buzzing faintly beneath her, Skye scrambled back to the relative safety of the balcony, tucking her pendant back over her head before she dropped it.

“JARVIS?!” She called sharply, trying and failing to hide her fear behind professionalism.

“The castle has been breached. His Highness is in danger.” JARVIS reported, tone clipped and factual.

His words sent a chill through Skye, and she swallowed hard before heading back inside, through the laboratory and beginning the laborious descent back into the bowels of the castle. “How? Never mind, I don’t need to know, I should probably shut up and stop distracting you, shit.” Skye rambled, wincing to herself. The ridiculous thought that, when she went home, she would worry everyone by talking to the walls and actually expecting them to answer crossed her mind, and for a moment she felt an insane urge to laugh.

“I am capable of dividing my attention between multiple places.” JARVIS reminded her, which Skye had known, but she wasn’t sure if the rules were different when peoples actual lives were on the line. “However, I may be somewhat distant while the majority of my focus is on His Highness.”

“Okay.” Skye agreed, nodding more to herself than JARVIS. “Then same question: How?”

“It appears the intruder is capable of teleportation.” JARVIS reported.

Skye nearly tripped herself in her sudden shock and disbelief, and flung a hand out against the wall to steady herself to avoid a head-long tumble down the stairs. “ _What_?!” She squeaked. Then she picked up her pace a little, despite the risk that presented. The whole castle was still humming with that disturbing high-pitched sound that almost but not quite resembled a scream. It was a bit too inhuman for that comparison to really feel true, though, and not as loud as it’s pitch and persistence made it seem. The stairs beneath her feet buzzed with it, just slightly, and Skye realised that was an amplification of the magic that sustained JARVIS that usually hummed just on the edge of human perception.

“The intruder teleported directly into His Highness’s suite.” JARVIS informed her.

Skye was starting to understand what he meant when he said that he’d be more distant. There was a near complete lack of all the nuances of emotion that usually permeated JARVIS’s voice that was only heightening her sense of dread. On reaching the bottom of the stairs, she paused, forcing herself to breathe deeply and stay calm. After double checking her memory of the castle’s layout, she raced down the corridor on her left.

“Skye, I think it would be best if you did not get involved in this conflict unless it is unavoidable.” JARVIS remarked as Skye swung herself around another corner.

“If I can help, I want to.” Skye insisted around her carefully modulated breaths.

“If the intruder is targeting His Highness, there is a good chance he will also come after you, if given the chance.” JARVIS pointed out.

Skye’s breathing stuttered for a moment. “Then I want my staff.” She insisted.

JARVIS didn’t reply, but he didn’t try to dissuade her again, so Skye took that as assent and continued on her way. She reached her rooms, and flung herself inside, scooping up her favourite weapon, an dark wooden staff nearly as tall as she was, covered from one end to the other in scrolling enchantments. Once it was in her hand, she stopped and took a moment to catch her breath. While her breathing evened out again, her heartbeat didn’t slow at all, and the tension in her muscles remained, despite her attempts to relax.

Finally, Skye shook her head. “I can’t just sit here not doing anything.” She announced. “JARVIS, where are they now?”

For a minute, she thought JARVIS wasn’t going to answer her, and she was going to have to go find them herself. “Sir Murdock is currently engaging the intruder in the hallway outside High Highness’s suite.” JARVIS informed her. “If you really _insist_ on throwing yourself into danger like this, please at least be careful, Skye.”

“I will, J. I promise.” Skye replied, stealing herself. Peter’s rooms weren’t too far from her own, so it was only a few minutes after she left her room that she came across the fight. The hallway was littered with faintly iridescent scorch marks, several of the decorative tapestries, paintings and ornaments were torn or broken, and at the far end, Skye could see Peter sandwiched between the wall and Matt, who was trading blows with a masked assailant dressed all in black – even his face was covered with a black mask – save for his left arm, which caught the light like a sword, highlighting the geometric, angular spellwork that decorated it.

It was hard to get a good look at that arm, but just from the little patches she managed to get a momentary good look at, Skye could tell that the spells on it were heavy-duty stuff. Spells of force and power, endurance, repair and healing, even some that could have been cutting or blasting spells, but it was hard to tell. Then Matt wrapped his own arm around the metal one and twisted the assassin right off his feet. Of course, the man flipped with the movement, landing on one knee before launching himself right back at the bodyguard again.

Skye raced down the corridor and swung her staff at the assassin’s shoulder. He blocked it with his forearm, but failed to account for the enchantments on Skye’s staff. The shockwave of the blow was enough to slam the assassin forcefully into the wall, and before his feet even touched the floor, Skye was driving the tip of the staff towards his ribcage.

Blue ripples filled the air, and the next thing Skye knew, the assassin was gone and her staff hit the wall, the shockwave creating a sizable dent in the stone, right in the middle of another of those oddly iridescent scorch marks. Wincing, Skye made a mental note to apologise to JARVIS later, then started to turn, looking for the assassin.

“Duck!” Matt yelled, and Skye obeyed on instinct, dropping into a forward roll as Matt leapt over her. As she came up next to Peter, she looked over her shoulder to see Matt slamming into the assassin – who had been standing right behind her – and sending them both tumbling to the floor.

Skye stared at the two grappling men, but her eyes were drawn inexorably back to the dented and scorched piece of wall where she’d seen a man _teleport_. That sort of magic was mythic. The only accounts of anyone figuring out the spells for teleportation were in stories of gods and lost cities that were destroyed for their hubris. “What the _hell_ …?!” She breathed out. Of course, it wasn’t that she hadn’t believed JARVIS when he’d reported that the man had appeared to teleport, but she’d thought that it was simply invisibility or enhanced speed.

“I don’t know, but I want to.” Peter announced next to her in equally awed tones.

“Do you think it’s on his arm somewhere?” Skye wondered, trying to get another look at the limb and failing due to the way the two men were fighting. It was a brutal, no-holds barred attempt to immobilise each other, and the arm was always either in motion, or pinned between or beneath something.

Peter shook his head. “Watch his hand, the next time he does it.” He instructed, then tacked on a quick “The normal one, I mean,” when he realised how ambiguous his first statement had been. Skye focused on said hand, and grimaced when she saw it slam into Matt’s jaw, knocking him off balance. Then a booted foot caught him in the gut and kicked him into the air. Thanks to Peter’s advice, Skye got to see the way the blue ripples seemed to originate from the assassin’s closed fist. They were oddly aurora like in the way thy wove through the air, but the colour was closer to a lightning strike, blue-white and only slightly muted by their translucency.

Then the waves collapsed in on themselves, disappearing into nothingness and taking the assassin with them, leaving behind only a faintly shimmering charred patch on the carpet. In the same moment, the assassin reappeared on his feet only a few paces away, getting his bearings admirably quickly, and slamming his elbow into the back of Matt’s shoulder as he fell past him. Matt slammed into the ground _hard_ , all the air knocked out of him on a pained huff, and Peter let out a tiny cry of dismay and worry.

He needn’t have. Despite evidently being in considerable amounts of pain, Matt still twisted himself around and swung his legs into the assassin’s ankles, toppling him again. Now on his back rather than his stomach, Matt snapped his nunchuck out at the assassin, catching him in the hip and eliciting a pained growl that sounded more animal than human. Despite both of them being newly injured, they scrambled to their feet and squared off against each other.

The assassin lunged forwards suddenly, and Matt darted in to meet him. Except the assassin vanished half way through the motion, and Skye had half a second to see the way Matt cocked his head, _listening_ , Skye realised, before there was another flare of blue and the assassin was suddenly blocking her view. She lashed out with her staff, but the assassin had learnt from before, and he ducked the blow rather than block it, metal arm flashing with the movement.

A nunchuck smacked hard against the meat of his shoulder, where his injured hip would have been if he hadn’t ducked. The assassin rounded on Matt again, and Skye was about to make him sorry he’d turned his back on her, when her staff started vibrating in her hands. Looking down at it in horror, she saw that there was neat little gouge in the lacquer that protected the spellwork. The flash she had seen hadn’t been his _arm_ , it had been a knife, disguised against his metal hand, and almost certainly enchanted, if it wasn’t the arm’s spells that had done the work.

“Shit.” Skye swore, then yelled “DUCK!” and lobbed the staff like a javelin down the length of the corridor, not waiting to see if everyone had obeyed. It exploded in midair.

The blast of the explosion knocked everyone off their feet, Skye included. She flew backwards, slammed into Peter, whose arms came around her like he was trying to protect her. Then they both slammed into the wall, and flopped limply down into a heap on the floor, too dazed to disentangle and right themselves, ears ringing and vision swimming. The walls and ceiling were still raining little streams of dust, the carpet was smouldering in a few places, and Matt was lying flat on the floor, not moving.

Somewhere, in the distance, Skye could hear voices, but she couldn’t make out what they were saying over the high-pitched ringing in her ears. There was a flash of blue, and Skye scrambled away from it more on instinct than any conscious knowledge, but she was impeded by being lying half underneath and half on top of Peter. His elbow caught her in the side, and she flinched away from the blow, only to have her arm caught and yanked back by a bruising metal grip.

Her brain seemed to come back online all at once. She kicked at the assassin’s shin, and she knew she’d got in a solid blow but the assassin didn’t even twitch. He grabbed up Peter’s arm in his hand as well, gripping viciously tight to make sure neither of them squirmed free of the slightly haphazard grip. Skye’s hearing was beginning to come back, she thought, because she could hear pounding footsteps, or maybe it was her own heartbeat.

From very far away, she thought she heard someone yell “NO!”

Then her entire world went blue and bright and searing. There was nothing but depthless electric blue riddled with brilliant white cracks of white lightning. Fractals within fractals, the most _perfect_ array of formulae she’d ever seen scratched into the air around her. Or was it water? Stone? She couldn’t tell.

It felt like an age that they floated there, in that scorching abyss, condensed into less than a fraction of a second. Then it was folding away from her, crawling back into it’s paltry little container resentfully, because it wasn’t done showing them the universe, not yet. Skye simultaneously wanted to chase after it and never stop staring into it, and to close her eyes and flee from it as fast as she possibly could.

It took her several seconds to realise that the world she’d returned to was not the same one she’d left. Now, instead of the hallways of Barzilai Castle, she was slumped on the cold marble floor of a temple, if she wasn’t mistaken. Off to her left, there were several platforms of varying levels, all interconnected with narrow sweeping stairs. Some platforms had alters in the center of them, decorated with candles and offerings, some had pools, their depths glittering with coins, or central fires built up as high as a person, while still others had pedestals topped with artefacts both ancient and new. The walls and the pillars around the room were exquisitely painted with every sigil, every spell Skye had ever come across, and many more that she hadn’t. There were people there, too, just a handful, tending the fires and praying at the alters. Or, rather, they _had_ been, because now they were all staring up at the black-clad assassin and his two passengers.

No, Skye realised with a shiver of foreboding. Their arrival might have been what caught their attention, but now they were staring _past_ the trio. She turned her head to the right, and saw that a huge set of stairs led up maybe three or four steps, each one at least five feet high. In the middle of these stairs fit for giants, was a narrow staircase built for human legs, carved deep into each step, leading up to a ceremonial archway, underneath which a large, broad throne stood. In the throne lounged a man. He would cut a pretty imposing figure without the throne and the archway and the stairs, Skye mused, despite the evidence of old age beginning to show on his face and the backs of his hands. He was broad in the shoulder, with a sturdy jaw, and highly muscle-bound. But his most striking feature was his skin, which was the colour of a fresh bruise.

Slowly, like a wild predator, the man sat up and leaned forwards, a smile starting to curve his slash of a mouth as he studied Skye and Peter. He spoke, in a language that wasn’t Ferronian, but Skye found she recognised it anyway. Even though it had been ten long years since she’d heard any dialect of the language of the southern continent, she still knew it well enough to know what the man on the throne was saying, and it made her feel sick with fear; “Well done, Soldier. You’ve done excellent work. Bring me the amulet, then take my new pets to their cage, and make sure the Mercenary knows what is at stake should he fail to keep them inside it.”

* * *

“NO!”

Pepper’s hand was still outstretched, although what she’d been hoping to do, she didn’t actually know. She’d simply seen the intruder leaning over Peter and Skye’s crumpled forms and reaching for them, and known that whatever was about to happen would be terrible. She had been right. Sometimes she hated being right.

JARVIS’s alarms cut off abruptly, but the sound still echoed through the building for a few more minutes. A little in front of her, Tony stood utterly immobile, wearing most of his enchanted armour save the helmet, and still staring at the spot where his son had disappeared into thin air only seconds ago. His eyes were wide and glazed with shock, and Pepper realised she was going to have to pull herself together, because Tony looked one small breeze away from falling apart. It took her several minutes to realise that where Tony appeared to barely be breathing at all, she herself was on the verge of hyperventilating.

As she was attempting to school her breathing, Loki arrived. She expected questions, but none came. Glancing across at where Loki had come to a stop beside her, she saw that he was scanning the scene with an increasingly horrified expression, from the dent in the wall to the still smouldering carpet and tapestries to the half-melted area of wall where something must have exploded. From Sir Murdock slumped against the wall with a hand over his face to the odd scorch marks all over the place. Those, in particular, seemed to catch and hold his attention, and he stepped past Pepper and Tony to brush his fingers over one of the marks. Then he rubbed them together, feeling the consistency of the residue of what had to be some heavy duty magic. Pepper knew at least that much from the time she’d spent with Tony.

There was a flash of something across Loki’s features as he studied the soot. Pepper prided herself on her ability to read people, and she knew that were a less observant soul might have said he looked grief-stricken, or harrowed, the only word Pepper felt did that look justice was _haunted_. “Loki?” She breathed out in question, her voice still fragile.

Loki’s head snapped up to look at her, and there passed between them a moment of silent communication. Whatever was haunting Loki, it terrified him, or perhaps it was merely the idea of sharing it that scared him, but Pepper couldn’t afford to be gentle with his fears right now. Not with Peter and Skye missing and in unknown danger. With nothing but the raw emotion on her face, she pleaded with him not to hide from them, not when so much that was precious to all of them was in such peril.

“I know who took them.” Loki informed her, low and slightly hoarse.

Tony jolted back to life, rounding on Loki and bringing all of the intensity of his desire for vengeance to bear when he growled “Who?”

“Tony…” Pepper interrupted softly, before Loki could answer, because she could see the cracks in his composure already, and she wasn’t sure he could handle Tony at his most intense right now, not without breaking on the way down. “Give him a moment, please-”

“I _don’t have_ a moment, Pepper!” Tony snarled viciously, turning to glare at her, his entire posture bristling with defensive rage, gauntleted hands clenched into shaking fists at his sides. “ _My son_ has been _kid-_ ”

Pepper cut him off with a well placed slap to the face. The sound of the smack echoed through the sudden, shocked silence, as Tony gaped in confused indignation and Loki stared at her as if she’d lost her mind. “ _Our_ son, Tony.” She corrected him, quiet but just as fierce as he had been. “We might not have any part of his genetics, and we might not have been here when he was little, but don’t you _dare_ act as though this doesn’t hurt us _just as much as it hurts you_.” Her voice started to shake on the last few syllables and she paused to suck in a fortifying breath and bite back her tears. “We’re angry too. We love him too. And we’re just as scared as you are.” She paused when she saw something crack open in Tony’s eyes, rage giving way to devastation for just a moment before he locked it back up behind a steely mask.

“His name is Thanos.” Loki announced, stepping closer to them. Pepper sniffed once as she pulled herself together and shifted into information-gathering mode. That didn’t stop her reaching out and catching Loki’s sooty hand and starting to clean the residue off his fingers with the handkerchief she kept up her sleeve. Loki stared at her like she’d just reached into him and taken hold of something vital. “He was once a citizen of Asgard, and a son of the royal house of one of her territories.”

“Was?” Tony echoed.

“He was exiled some fifty years ago.” Loki replied, glancing over at him, and then back to Pepper as she finished wiping his hand clean, but continued to hold onto it even as she tucked her handkerchief away again.

Pepper offered him an attempt at a smile that was too bogged down with worry and stress to really be called a smile at all. “How do you know it was him?” She asked, interlinking their fingers.

“I… suspected it was him the moment JARVIS informed me the intruder could teleport, but I only knew once I saw that.” Loki explained, gesturing at the scorch mark on the wall. “There’s only one object that leaves marks like that, and it is in Thanos’s possession.” He paused, then went on in a mildly disgusted tone of voice; “Although I doubt he did it himself. He’d consider this sort of thing beneath him.”

“How sure are you that he still has it?” Pepper questioned carefully. “If he’s been exiled fifty years, he might have lost it, or sold it, or… done any number of things other than keep it.” She finished helplessly.

                Loki shook his head, looking oddly uncomfortable with the topic, almost as if he were resigned to some dire fate. “He only got his hands on it around five years ago. Before then, it was kept in Odin’s weapons vault. And he would not let go of it once it was in his possession. It and the rest of it’s set – there were six, originally, but three of them were lost long before Asgard conquered Othrys – were once property of his family, said to have been created by a distant ancestor of the royal family. He considers them his birthright, and would die before he let them out of his possession. And he is not an easy man to kill.” Loki announced gravely.

That sounded rather personal. “Have you tried?” Pepper asked, eyebrows raised.

“Odin has.” Loki corrected. “It was that battle that took his eye.”

“Right.” Tony growled out. “Where do we find him?”

Loki grimaced apologetically and shrugged. “I do not know.”

A frustrated snarl tore free of Tony’s throat, but it was very evidently not directed at Loki. “Then our only lead is the intruder himself.” He concluded. “JARVIS, what do we know about him? Anything that could help us locate him?”

“He had the height and build of an average male warrior, brown hair, and his left arm was metallic and enchanted.” JARVIS summarised dutifully, his tone crisp and clipped the way it always went when he was genuinely angry. “I am sorry I cannot – and could not – be of more assistance, Your Majesty.”

“Without you, JARVIS, we would not have even known that Peter or Skye were in any danger at all.” Loki pointed out.

There was a deeply unconvinced silence. “Thank you, sire.” JARVIS said eventually, evidently not convinced, but glad of the reassurance and willing to let the subject go rather than argue the point. “I have begun analysis of the enchantments on his arm, if Your Majesties would like to take this discussion to the lab?” He offered.

Tony opened his mouth, the stopped himself and sighed heavily. “Yeah, great.” He muttered viciously, turning and starting back the way he had come, already starting to unbuckle his armour.

“Look after him.” Pepper said quietly to Loki, who nodded reassuringly. “Meanwhile I’m going to have to write to Phil and tell him we lost his daughter.” She added, only half directing it to Loki, distracted by the painful task awaiting her.

“You should not lay the blame where it does not belong, Pepper.” Loki reminded her, his hands coming to rest on her upper arms, his hold light and comforting. Pepper appreciated it more than she could say. “Thanos is responsible for this, and you are not responsible for his actions. We did not lose them; he _took_ them.”

Pepper smiled gratefully and leaned into him, turning their closeness into a proper embrace by curling her arms around his waist and resting her forehead on his shoulder. “Don’t you forget, either.” She muttered to him, and felt him stiffen slightly. She tilted her head to the side to smile sadly at him. “You looked guilty, earlier, when you were explaining about this enchanted object and how badly Thanos wants it. But this isn’t your fault, Loki.”

“You can’t know that.” Loki reminded her darkly.

Pepper shook her head at him, almost laughing at him. “I can.” She corrected him, and enjoyed the way a multitude of emotions flashed across Loki’s face, including pain and shock and maybe a little bit of hope, before he settled into a dry, disbelieving look. “It’s the way you look at them. Peter, and Darcy. And Skye a little bit, too.” She informed him. “You look at them the way Tony does, when he thinks no one can see him. Like they’re so precious, even if they stabbed you and twisted the knife, you’d still think they were the best people in the world.”

Loki looked sharply away from her, and that was the moment Pepper knew she was right. When Loki managed to look back at her, his expression was full of affection laced with lingering surprise. “You are a remarkable woman, Pepper Potts.” He informed her.

“I try.” Pepper agreed, and kissed him softly before she withdrew. “Now, go figure out a way to save them. I’ll handle everything else.” Loki nodded sharply, and then hurried after Tony, leaving Pepper alone in the ruined hallway save for Sir Murdock, who was still sitting exactly where he had dragged himself to lean against the wall after Peter and Skye had vanished.

_First things first_ , Pepper thought, gazing lingering on the young warrior. Carefully, she picked her way down the hall, avoiding the parts of the carpet that were still smouldering and the ruins of the smashed ornaments littered over the floor. Sir Murdock didn’t even seem to realise she was heading for him. It was only once she’d paused a few feet from him that he tilted his head towards her, eyes unseeing, and then laboriously climbed to his feet.

He was very obviously injured, and had probably cracked a few ribs given the way he was favouring his right side. But he still stood tall and bowed respectfully to her. “Your Majesty.” He greeted, voice hoarse and tight.

Pepper considered him a moment longer. “Thank you, for protecting them.” She said finally, soft and a little cracked around the edges, but still sincere.

Sir Murdock actually flinched a little in shock and denial. “I didn’t.” He pointed out with a bitter and dark little twist of his lips.

“You didn’t crack those ribs falling down the stairs.” Pepper reminded him. “So thank you.”

Sir Murdock shook his head. “Don’t- Don’t thank me for failing, Your Majesty. That’s not- I can’t accept that.”

Long experience with people as difficult and complex as Tony had taught Pepper that sometimes forgiveness only poisoned wounds caused by guilt and self-flagellation. She knew this was a hurt that couldn’t be soothed with words. “Then perhaps you will accept an opportunity for atonement?” She offered, tentatively trying a different tack.

“Your Majesty?” Sir Murdock questioned, spine straightening a little.

Pepper smiled a little, glad that she’d been right. “When we find out where Thanos is hiding, will you help us bring Peter and Skye home?”

“Even if it kills me, Your Majesty.” Sir Murdock replied at once.

Pepper nodded and turned to go. Then she paused and looked back, causing Sir Murdock to tilt his head in slightly puzzled curiosity. “Just remember that you can’t help him if you’re dead, Matt.” She reminded him gently.

Swallowing, Matt nodded. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

* * *

After their arrival in the weird cross between a temple and a throne room, the man with the metal arm let go of Peter and Skye to ascend the stairs and drop something small and shining blue into the outstretched hand of the man on the throne. From the colour, Peter was pretty sure that _that_ was how he had been able to teleport. It should have been a relief to see it out of his hands, but Peter could only focus on how much _less_ he wanted it in the other man’s. The way he looked at the two of them made him feel slightly sick with fear.

Then the man with the metal arm strode back to them and hauled them to their feet. “Walk.” He instructed in a growl, shoving them towards the stairs. Peter obeyed, for lack of any better options, and allowed the man to hustle him and Skye down the many, many flights of stairs. On the lowest level, there was a wide archway that opened onto a large antechamber that was brightly lit with numerous enchanted orbs on wrought iron pedestals. Witchlights, one of the simplest spells known. They still looked impressive, for all that it didn’t take much skill with magic to make one. Several much smaller and darker corridors led off from the antechamber on either side, and there was a humongous pair of doors directly opposite them.

They were guided down one of the corridors, and Peter did his best to memorise the route in case… Just in case. After several turns and being directed down a couple of flights of stairs, Skye tried to strike up a conversation with their kidnapper. At least, Peter assumed that was what she was doing, because it sounded like gibberish to him. The man ignored Skye so completely that Peter was a little impressed despite himself. Skye was not an easy girl to ignore.

Several long minutes of being marched through labyrinthine passages passed, the walls all lined with torches rather than the enchanted orbs of the antechamber, and no windows to be seen at all. Finally, they came to a large room with a line of bars separating the back half of the room from the other. The side immediately inside the door was, well, a complete mess. There were packs of cards and painted tiles and a mess of chess and other board games that Peter didn’t recognise, along with several plates with the festering remains of food. Swords and axes and maces and spears were littered around with the games, Peter even thought he saw a whip and some exotic and weirdly shaped blades in amongst the mess.

Directly in the middle of the room, right in the path between the door to the room and the barred door that allowed access to the cages half of the room, was a large and unmade bed. It was oddly incongruous, but not as much as the man sprawled across it. He was dressed entirely in red and black, from head to foot, including his boots, gloves, and the mask that covered his head in it’s entirety. It looked, Peter thought with a shudder of foreboding, like an executioner’s mask, if executioner’s masks were red instead of black, with black gauze instead of holes where the eyes should be.

Said man looked over as Peter and Skye were shoved inside, then hopped up with his arms spread wide as if in welcome. “Hey! You got them! That’s great! Hey, guys! Welcome to your new humble abode for the time being – I’m Deadpool, your friendly neighbourhood Mercenary; also known as the Merc with a Mouth! – and I will be your host and roommate for the duration of your stay. Look, there’s even a divider down the center of the room so we can’t leave our stuff in each other’s space! Isn’t that great? So thoughtful!”

Peter stared, mouth hanging open with an urge to say something, but there were no words in the face of… _that_. He couldn’t even tell if the man – _Deadpool_. What sort of name was that?! – was being sarcastic, serious, or just ridiculous. “Are you serious?” Skye asked, somewhat less dumbstruck than Peter.

“Only on days ending in D.” Deadpool proclaimed proudly.

Their masked kidnapper ignored Deadpool and nudged the two of them past him and towards the door in the bars. Peter didn’t really want to walk himself into his own cage, but he didn’t know where he was or how to get home, or how many people were between him and his way out. Not to mention the man at his back had nearly bested _Matt_ in a fight, and that was… a little terrifying, if Peter was being honest with himself. Skye was apparently having similar thoughts in a slightly different direction, because she allowed herself to be propelled for three steps, before she ducked away from their captor and lunged for one of the weapons lying scattered on the floor.

Before she could lay a hand on the bladed staff, there was a sword at her throat.

It took Peter’s brain a few seconds to catch up with his eyes, and then he realised that the sword hadn’t just materialised there – at this point, more teleporting spells wouldn’t have actually surprised him – Deadpool was just _that_ fast. He was holding the slender, slightly curved and square-tipped blade delicately against the soft skin of Skye’s throat, where she was standing half hunched over and very, very still.

Deadpool tsked at her, wagging the finger of his other hand like a parent gently admonishing an unruly child. “It’s not nice to touch other people’s stuff without asking.” He informed her.

Skye considered him for a moment, then asked, all caution and faint disbelief “Can I borrow this?” She asked, pointing at the bladed staff.

Deadpool snickered, but still shook his head. “Sorry, kiddo, but I’ve got a job to do, and that means keeping you here. If you really want, I can pass it to you once you’re on your side of the room, but while you’re still out here and in stabby range, the answer’s gotta be no.” He offered.

Peter scrubbed a hand over his face. “I’ve got to be dreaming. Matt spiked my tea to make me sleep and now I’m dreaming that I’ve been kidnapped by a collection of characters straight off Darcy’s fiction shelf.” He muttered to himself.

“Well, yeah.” Deadpool confirmed. “Okay, not the dream part, but this is _literally_ a fantasy-fiction novel.” He announced with complete solemnity.

“Am I going to be rescued by a chupacabra?” Peter wondered dryly.

“Don’t be silly, chupacabras don’t exist in this world.” Deadpool scoffed.

“But you just _said_ -” Peter began to protest, then stopped himself and shook his head. “No, you know what? I’m not gonna even argue.” He announced, because he could tell when a conversation was getting _too_ ridiculous. It was a sense honed by living with Tony Stark for nineteen years.

Before another word could be said, the masked man behind Peter and Skye gave Peter another nudge towards the cage. “Move.” He ordered, surprisingly deadpan when Peter had been expecting more annoyance or anger. He didn’t even sound exasperated.

Peter obeyed slowly, watching as Deadpool gave Skye a single prompting nod, and she slowly straightened, the sword at her throat moving steadily along with her. Like that, the two of them were marched to the cell door, which the masked kidnapper unlocked and locked behind them once they were inside with a key from one of his many pockets. “Don’t let them escape.” The kidnapper warned Deadpool.

“Who do you think I am?” Deadpool scoffed. Behind his mask, the kidnapper stared at him for several long seconds, before turning and leaving without another word. Deadpool stared after him. “Nice seeing you!” He called after him. “You should drop by more often! I can talk and you can brood, it’s a winning combo!”

After several more drawn out minutes of silence, Deadpool shrugged to himself and dove back onto his bed, squirming around like an overgrown kitten until he was comfortable. Peter turned his attention away from the crazy man, and instead examined their new accommodations. The cell was very empty, and felt even more so because it was so large. The walls and floor and ceiling were all natural rock, telling Peter they were underground, and there was a knee-high shelf carved along one side and the back wall with a handful of blankets thrown over it for a bed. On the other side, there was a little alcove that gave the illusion of privacy without actually granting any, in which there was a very crude toilet. Peter could actually hear running water, which was honestly much better than what he’d been expecting.

Thinking about that, though, threatened to send panic crawling up his throat, so he resolutely turned his thoughts away from it and instead went to investigate the blankets. They were musty and coarse, but thick, and would provide plenty of warmth, which was good.

“So who was that?”

Skye’s voice made Peter jump, and he turned to see her leaning against the bars, looking through them at Deadpool. Said man turned his head away from the deck of cards he’d been idly shuffling and replied with a mild; “Who?”

“The man in black, with the metal arm.” Skye prompted, as if it should have been obvious, which was a sentiment Peter agreed with. “Who was he?”

“Oh, dunno.” Deadpool shrugged. “Everyone around here just calls him ‘The Soldier’.” He spoke the title with a low, dramatic inflection. He even went so far as to wiggle his fingers in the air dramatically, spraying playing cards across the bed. “He’s been getting a pretty impressive reputation these last few years, but still not as good as mine.” Deadpool added proudly, shifting up onto his knees to gather up his cards.

“A reputation for… kidnapping?” Peter wondered sceptically.

“No, stupid. Unaliving people.” Deadpool corrected.

Skye shifted, suddenly on alert. “What, you mean like assassinations?” She asked, sharp and intense. “…Did one of you kill Lord-Navarch Fury?” She added, and Peter understood her sudden fierceness.

“Oh, that one was definitely him. I mean, if _I’d_ been sent on that mission, there would have been a lot more explosions. Explosions are fun.” Deadpool replied easily.

“ _Fuck you_.” Skye spat with disgust.

If Deadpool had a witty response to that, which he probably did, and it was probably something crude, Peter didn’t hear it over the sudden rushing in his ears. Everything felt very far away suddenly, and the air was heavy against his lungs, pressing down and stealing his breath. His knees wobbled, and he had just enough sense left despite how light-headed he was suddenly feeling to sit down before he fell down. It was still a rather undignified crumple, but by using the wall to steady him and, once he was down there, lean his back against, he managed not to actually hurt himself. “ _Gods_.” He swore under his breath, barely having the breath for it but needing to anyway, just to express some of the horror and fear burning under his skin.

“Peter?” Skye was suddenly very close in front of him, her hands on his knees, and Peter wasn’t sure whether he found it comforting or stifling.

“Hey, come on, don’t panic.” That was Deadpool, also a lot closer all of a sudden, but still, thankfully, on the other side of those steel bars. “I mean, not that you aren’t in a pretty shit situation and all, but panicking never helped anybody. It just gets more people dead and maybe looses you a few limbs.”

“Not. Helping.” Peter informed him, scrubbing a hand through his hair.

“Sorry.” Deadpool apologised, and he did sound rather contrite. “Whatever you’re thinking about, you should probably stop. Wanna play some cards? Or I’ve got chess? Well, it can be a checkers board too. Go? Mancala?”

Peter stared at him. “Why do you even care?” He asked.

Deadpool shrugged. “You don’t seem like a particularly shitty person?” He offered, though he didn’t sound very sure of his answer at all.

“Then let us out.” Peter countered, unimpressed.

“Sorry, no can do. A guy’s gotta eat, and guarding you kids is my job.” Deadpool stated flippantly. “If you don’t pick a game soon, I’m going to pick for you, and then you’ll be stuck playing strip-go-fish with me _all day_.” He sing-songed.

“What’s mancala?” Peter asked tentatively.

“Good choice!” Deadpool complimented enthusiastically, not answering the question at all. He leaned over so far he flopped onto his side, but it did put his hands in reach of an odd little game board covered in little dips that were full of beautiful little semi-precious pebbles. Deadpool set the board right next to the base of the bars, so Peter could put his hands through and reach the board. “Since you guys haven’t played before, I’ll be nice and let you both be a team.” Deadpool announced brightly.

Skye made a sceptical sound, but Deadpool didn’t notice, already off explaining the rules, and the origin, of the game, then promptly getting sidetracked by a bout of word association and some how winding up telling them the stories of some of the most famous pirates in history. They played as he talked, or at least, Peter did. After the first few minutes of tangential rambling from Deadpool, Skye retreated to the carved out bed space and curled her knees up to her chest, looking sullen and fiddling with her necklace.

After half a dozen games of mancala, they switched to chess, which Peter already knew the rules of, so Deadpool didn’t have to teach him and thereby didn’t have an advantage to the first few games. Peter had expected Deadpool to be an easy opponent, but his chaotic playing style was actually really difficult to combat effectively. He did beat him four times out of seven though.

“Checkmate.” Peter declared smugly.

“Aww! Come on, lets do best five out of nine!” Deadpool whined when Peter won their seventh game.

Peter couldn’t help but laugh and acquiesce. As they were moving their pieces back to their own sides of the board, he sobered a little, studying Deadpool in confusion. “I don’t understand you.” He informed him, a little out of the blue.

“That’s okay. Most people don’t. I am crazy, after all.” Deadpool assured him.

Peter blinked, then shook that off. “No, I mean… Well, I guess maybe that does explain it, but it’s not _really_ an explanation, you know? You can’t just brush someone’s reasoning off as ‘they’re just crazy’ because even most crazy people make at least _some_ sense inside their own heads.”

Deadpool stared at him. After a long moment he shook himself, looked down at the board and asked “What don’t you get?” as if he hadn’t just spent the last minute staring at Peter. He started the game off moving one of his knights.

“Well, you’re a mercenary, going by your comment earlier about needing to eat. So you’re being paid to be here, keeping us prisoner. And yet, you’ve talked me down from a panic attack, played a bunch of games with me, and chatted like we’re friends.” Peter began, considering the board as he spoke. Finally, he moved one of his pawns, and looked up, about to continue, when he was interrupted by Deadpool.

“Nah, I chat like this to anything that’ll sit still long enough, ask anyone.” Deadpool corrected easily, not looking up from the board.

“Okay, well, what I mean is, you’re not avoiding seeing me as human. We’re talking, you recognise that I have feelings, you even seem to care to some degree about my feelings and my comfort. But you’re still working for a kidnapper and an assassin for money. I don’t… I don’t get that.” Peter admitted. “They don’t seem like they should fit together at all.”

“Why not?” Deadpool questioned, looking up at Peter and tilting his head to one side like a curious child.

Peter blinked at him, confused by his confusion. “Well… Because… If you’re so willing to connect with me and empathise with me, then how can you rationalise helping the people that are keeping me in a cage? Either you should be worried about growing to like me, which would put your job in jeopardy, or you shouldn’t want to work for people like that in the first place, surely?”

Deadpool rolled his head back in a way that seemed to indicate some sort of dawning understanding. Especially as it was accompanied by a long, drawn out “Ohh!” in a light, air, and rather childish tone. Then Deadpool rocked forwards again with an inelegant shrug. “Bad things happen to good people all the time, baby boy. It’s a part of life. Yeah, I kinda like you, you’re cute and funny and you actually listen to the crap that comes out of my mouth, but that doesn’t mean we’re friends. Life sucks and then you die. Or you don’t and it keeps on sucking. You’ve gotta take the good bits where you find them. I figure a nice chat and some fun games is better than you hyperventilating and me brooding and her sulking. That’s all.”

“But getting out of here would _best_.” Peter pointed out, trying not to blush at the nickname, or the compliment. “You could help us escape.”

“Nice try, snookums. Didn’t you notice that Tall Dark and Racoon-Face took the key?”

Peter blinked. That was not the protest he’d been expecting. “You could get it back, though. I know you could. You’re _fast_ , faster than he is. And he’s injured. Matt – my bodyguard – got a few good hits in before he – the Soldier? Do people here really call him that? – managed to grab us.” He encouraged.

“Him? Yeah, probably. It’d be tough, but I could do it. But he’ll have given the key back to Thanos by now, and Thanos is a favourite of the Mistress, so I’m not going to upset her by messing with him. Not that I get what she sees in him, I’m obviously a much better choice.” Deadpool declared. Peter opened his mouth in shock, intending to say something, but Deadpool carried on before he could. “No, shut up, you _know_ she loves me, we just can’t be together because of… my condition.”

In all of his puzzling, Peter honestly hadn’t considered that _love_ might be Deadpool’s motivation. Or at least one of his reasons, since he was also, apparently, getting paid. “The Mistress?” Peter wondered.

Deadpool gave a very wistful sigh. “She’s amazing. I’ll never met anyone like her – literally – but we’re destined never to be together. It’s so tragic. I still get to see her sometimes, though, and that makes it all worth it.”

Peter’s heart went out to him, even though he was pretty sure he wasn’t supposed to feel such sympathy for his jailer. “That is tragic.” He agreed softly. “You said… you can’t be with her because of your condition?” He asked tentatively.

Deadpool shook his head. “Not the point.” He stated bluntly, then abruptly returned to the point of the conversation. Peter accepted the change of subject, because, well, if it had been him, he wouldn’t have wanted to talk about it, either. “The point is that messing with Thanos is stupid.” He snorted. “On so many levels. Not only would you piss the Mistress off, but Thanos is a badass son of a bitch on a _good day_. You really do not want to tangle with him.” Deadpool announced emphatically. He paused. “Well… A lot of people probably _do_ want to mess with him because he _is_ a son of a bitch, but it’d be a really bad idea.” He corrected.

“My dad likes to say that bad ideas are just good ideas in disguise.” Peter announced.

Deadpool burst out laughing so hard that he fell over. He lay on the floor and hooted with laughter until he set Peter off snickering just from how entertaining it was to watch a grown man rolling around on the floor with laughter like a small child. “Ideas in drag.” He gasped out when he had the breath, then devolved into another bout of cackles.

Peter snorted in disbelief. “ _That’s_ what you got from that?!” He demanded.

“What do ideas even look like?” Deadpool wondered without answering, so absently Peter wasn’t actually sure that the man was talking to him any more.

He answered anyway. “I guess it depends on the idea?” He mused, deliberately not reacting when Deadpool looked sharply over at him. It was confirmation that Deadpool hadn’t actually expected Peter to have a reply, or want to indulge the topic. “Because if it’s an idea for a sword, then it’d probably look like a sword, right? I mean, the whole world _is_ built out of ideas, so… ideas probably look like what they _are_.”

“What about ideas of concepts, though? Like dreams? What does the idea of a dream look like?” Deadpool countered.

Peter was a little, just a little, taken aback by the intelligence of that question. He paused to think about it, then shrugged. “A sheep? A cloud?”

“A cloud-sheep?” Deadpool suggested, making Peter laugh. “And checkmate in three.” He added, using his middle finger to nudge his bishop across the board.

Peter blinked and studied the board. Deadpool was right. He shot the man a mock-threatening look, pointing at him with a touch of melodrama. “You still have to win the next one as well to beat me, and I won’t be so easily distracted this time.”

“You started it.” Deadpool protested. “I’m bored of chess. How about some cards?”

* * *

JARVIS had only just begun his recitation of the spells carved into the kidnapper’s arm when he first felt it. It was a sensation not unlike the times that Tony decided to check JARVIS’s core spells for erosion or damage. A light touch against something that was more inherently _him_ than anything else. Except he knew full well no one was in the depths of the castle where his central identity had been painstakingly etched out by Tony, and Tony alone. Unlike the rest of JARVIS’s spellwork, which he had allowed others – such as High Duke Banner – to assist with, that part of him had been touched by no one other than Tony himself.

Then the touch resolved itself into a presence, distant and foreign, but familiar, recognisable, and on very much the same wavelength as JARVIS himself. _JARVIS?_ It was less a voice and more an impression of a query, a search in the ether for everything that JARVIS was. But if it had been a voice, JARVIS was certain he would have known the sound of it.

He immediately left the part of himself in the lab on autopilot, dedicating the entirety of his attention inwards, on the presence he could detect reaching out to him. _Skye?_ He checked, in the same manner she had, hardly daring to hope.

_JARVIS! Oh thank the fucking stars, it works!_ A sensation of near painful relief and celebration accompanied the thought, and it all rang so clearly with Skye’s identity that JARVIS wondered for a moment how he could ever have suspected it might be anyone else. _This is so not the way I would have chosen to test my amulet, but hey, at least I finished it before this shit went down._

_It is a relief to know you are alive, Skye. Are you well? Is Peter with you?_ JARVIS queried at once, his own relief short-lived in the light of his still extensive list of concerns.

_Peter’s here, yeah. We’re both relatively unhurt; just a few scrapes and bruises. Scared, though._ Skye admitted, with a feeling that wasn’t quite shame, but still something oddly rueful and bitter, directed inwards at herself.

_As you have every right to be. We were all very scared for you on this end, too._ JARVIS assured her.

He felt a burst of gratitude and affection from Skye, a tangle of emotion too complicated for words, but remarkably eloquent in communicating her emotional state to him all the same. Skye followed it up with brisk words that were clearly meant to change the subject and deter a response from JARVIS on the topic of her feelings. _I don’t know where we are exactly, but we’re somewhere on the southern continent. I recognise the language. We were brought to some massive temple place, then dragged underground and put in a cell. The man who took us is apparently just called The Soldier, and the man in charge is… well, he looked like he was being worshiped as some kind of god or something, and his skin was purple._

JARVIS couldn’t help his burst of startled curiosity at that, and Skye apparently registered it, because she answered the unspoken question.

_Yeah. I’m not kidding. Purple. Sort of dark grey-ish purple, like that colour around the edges of a really bad bruise. His face, neck, hands, all that colour. I don’t know if it’s tattoos or dye or what, I was too far away to get a really good look, but… Yeah._

_I see_. JARVIS announced, which was a lie. A moment later, instead of words, Skye sent him the impression of a memory, of the man she described lounging on a throne under an elaborate archway. _I see_. He said again, this time much more truthfully.

Skye made a distracted acknowledgement of his acknowledgement, and moved on. _The only other thing I know that I think could help is that the man guarding our cell is a mercenary called Deadpool. I’m pretty sure he’s completely insane, but he’s also being pretty friendly, and I think Peter is trying to win him over. If that fails, we can try buying him over. I don’t know how much he’s being paid, exactly, but I figure Ferronia will pay quite handsomely for the return of their High Prince._

There was something lurking under that thought that JARVIS was sure he wasn’t meant to have felt. A quiet little note of self-belittlement that made him feel irrationally annoyed on Skye’s behalf. _We would pay quite handsomely for the return of our ward, as well, Skye._ He informed her, gentle but with no room for debate.

Something warm and bashful and deeply fond unfurled across their connection, accompanied by just one word that Skye clearly felt wasn’t enough to express herself adequately; _Thanks_.

_This is not something you need to thank me for, Skye._ JARVIS countered. Skye’s response was nonverbal and noncommittal, neither agreeing nor disagreeing, and waving off the subject before it could become a discussion. JARVIS let it go only a little reluctantly. _I will inform Tony, Pepper and Loki that you’ve been in contact and all that you’ve said._ He informed her, and got a burst of acceptance and agreement from Skye.

He returned most of his awareness to the lab where Tony and Loki were currently debating the effect of a certain complicated knot of spellwork JARVIS had just explained the equations of. Before he interrupted, he relayed a quick message to Pepper that he was in contact with Skye and pertinent information was being discussed in the lab if she wanted to join. She informed him that she did and started making her way down through the castle.

There was a startled burst of wonderment and curiosity from Skye, and JARVIS abruptly realised she must be getting more information from him than he’d originally anticipated. After contemplating the idea, he decided he didn’t dislike the thought, and allowed himself to deliberately project some of the information to her, mostly audio, as he cut the two mages off mid-argument. “Ah, Your Majesties?”

Tony and Loki both looked up with matching irritated expressions. “What?”

“I have just received word from Skye. She and His Highness are alive and relatively unharmed.” He informed them.

“What?” They asked again, this time in shock and relief rather than annoyance. “ _How_?” Tony pressed, a rather gobsmacked expression on his face. JARVIS felt a small squirm of discomfort at that inquiry, even though he knew it had been coming.

Before he could answer, Loki spoke up with his own question; “Relatively unharmed?” He echoed pressingly. “What precisely does that mean? And will they remain that way?”

JARVIS chose to tackle that question first. “They are scared and a bit bruised, but otherwise unharmed and in no immediate danger.” He explained.

“Thank fuck.” Tony breathed, starting to grin a little in relief. “I still want to know _how_ you know this, J?” He asked again.

JARVIS steeled himself to answer. “For several weeks while Skye was staying here, I was assisting her in creating an amulet to allow her to remain in contact with me once she returned to Aegis. I was going to inform you of it’s existence, sire, once we knew for sure that it would be functional, but we had not had time to test it before Skye was kidnapped.” He explained, feeling sheepish and a touch embarrassed about keeping the project quiet from Tony.

_Oh._ Skye thought suddenly, and JARVIS realised she must have picked up on his discomfort. _You should have said something, J. If I’d known, I wouldn’t have asked you to keep it quiet._ She informed him, fretful and apologetic.

_Your concerns that informing other mages would have led to them butting in and taking over was not without merit._ JARVIS reminded her gently. _Especially where Tony is concerned. I took both your feelings and mine into consideration and decided that it would not harm Tony or myself, nor our relationship, for me to keep it from him until it’s completion. It was ours, and not something I wanted him to meddle in, either._

_Oh._ Skye said again, which JARVIS found rather amusing.

It took Tony the span of their little conversation to pull his jaw up off the floor and start grinning. Seeing the genuine delight and stunned pride on Tony’s face served to sooth the lingering embarrassment JARVIS was feeling. “Are secret projects going to become the norm now, J?”

“As if you have any room to talk, sire.” JARVIS riposted mildly.

Tony laughed and nodded in only faux-reluctant acknowledgement. “Fair enough. But next time you bring a lover home, J, let me know so I know who to give the shovel talk to, okay?” He teased playfully. JARVIS would have been perfectly comfortable to make a witty retort, since he had long come to terms with his affections for Skye, and the fact that they – and he himself – were unconventional enough that it was likely nothing would come of them, but a sudden flare of intense mortification from Skye silenced him in shock.

In the lab, Loki cringed in sympathy and sighed. “Tony, I don’t believe they had gotten around to discussing that aspect of their relationship yet.” He informed his husband wearily. Tony blinked, looking at Loki in surprise and slowly dawning understanding.

JARVIS cleared his throat. “And you should also know that Skye is listening.” He added distractedly, a little preoccupied by the horrified embarrassment still being projected at him by Skye that was, unfortunately, drowning out his own tentative hope.

Tony winced. “Oh. Oh, shit. Sorry, JARVIS.”

“You meant no harm, sire, and perhaps now we can speak honestly about it. I will endeavour to let you know if we reach any pertinent decisions.” JARVIS offered magnanimously. The light, hopeful feeling coursing through him was a pleasant one, dampened only by his quietly persistent concern for Peter and Skye’s welfare. “However, perhaps this subject is one best shelved until Skye and Peter are both home safely?” He suggested.

“Yes!” Tony agreed, eager to move the conversation away from his faux pas.

With perfect timing, the door opened and Pepper entered. “JARVIS told me he’d spoken to Skye.” She informed her husbands when they looked at her in surprise. “He suggested we might all want to discuss what to do with the information she’s given us.”

“Right.” Tony agreed. “JARVIS?” He prompted.

Dutifully, JARVIS relayed to them all that Skye had told him about where she was and who had taken her. At his description of the purple-skinned man, Loki interrupted with a small hiss of loathing. “That’s Thanos.” He confirmed for them.

“I had suspected.” JARVIS agreed.

“On the bright side, I think I have a pretty good idea of where they are?” Pepper offered, looking grimly determined.

“How?” Tony questioned, staring at her.

Pepper rolled her eyes at him. “You really ought to actually _read_ your letters when you get them, instead of leaving them for later. There was a message from Phil in the mess on your desk. He did send out some scouting parties when you suggested it, and it seems like the southern tribes have been gathering somewhere in the west. Most of it was presented in religious terms, a pilgrimage of some sort, but given that this Thanos seems to be making himself into a some kind of living god, I’m not surprised.”

“I really want to kill this guy.” Tony announced, more than a little unimpressed.

“Many have tried.” Loki informed him grimly.

Tony shot Loki a smirk that would have been flippant if it hadn’t had so much vicious intent behind it. “Yeah, but none of them were Tony Stark.” He pointed out. It had Pepper rolling her eyes, and Loki biting back a smile. Then Tony clapped his hands together. “Right. Since we know roughly where they are, we should prep a rescue party. I should send Rhodey, probably, and maybe a dozen other trusted knights-”

_No!_ Skye sent a burst of protest. _It can’t be anything overt. Thanos has spies everywhere, remember? If he gets wind that you all know where we are, he’ll move us, or just kill us, or something. It needs to be discrete._

JARVIS relayed the message, interrupting Tony mid-sentence. “Skye has just reminded me that if you send off a squadron of knights, Thanos is likely to find out relatively quickly.” He paraphrased.

With a curse, Tony fell into a thoughtful silence. “Perhaps we should emulate Skye?” Loki suggested, drawing his lovers’ attention. “We send one or two knights as, as far as anyone else is concerned, nothing more than messengers to Aegis. Once there, Lord-Navarch Coulson can fill their ranks with one or two soldiers of his own, and they can slip away into the southern continent from there?”

“That could work.” Tony agreed.

“I think we should send Matt.” Pepper interjected.

Tony looked startled, but Loki looked sceptical. “Really?” He questioned. Pepper nodded, raising her eyebrows at his disbelieving tone, so Loki pressed on. “You don’t think it seems a bit disingenuous to send someone we _know_ can’t stand up to the man who took them?”

“He was holding his own exceptionally well until something exploded right on top of him.” Pepper pointed out. “But more importantly,” she pressed, when Loki opened his mouth to argue, “you’re right. He failed once. Now he has something to prove.” She smiled, small and smug and unnerving to anyone who didn’t know just how manipulative Pepper could be when she was backed into a corner. “There’s nothing more dangerous than someone with something to prove.”

“The lady has a good point.” Tony acknowledged. Loki shot him a droll look, and Tony held his hands up. “I know that one from experience, Lokes. And from some of the things you’ve told me about Asgard, I’m betting so do you.”

Reluctantly, Loki nodded in agreement. Pepper’s smile widened. “Also, he’s uniquely suited for the cover we’ve thought up. What better ‘punishment’ for the disgraced bodyguard of the High Prince than to be sent to deliver the news of his failure to the only other person who lost as much as we did because of it?” She pointed out brightly.

“An even better point.” Loki accepted, smiling in helpless surrender.

“Shall I inform Sir Murdock that Your Majesties would like to speak with him?” JARVIS questioned, already preparing to do so before Tony spoke to confirm. He could feel Skye’s amusement at his pre-empting Tony’s requests.

“Yeah, go ahead, J. We’ll talk to him in the antechamber of the lab.” Tony confirmed.

“Very well, sire.” JARVIS agreed. As the three monarchs continued to discuss the details of their plan, JARVIS turned his attention back to Skye. The moment she noticed, embarrassment flooded her again, and JARVIS realised that leaving the topic of their feelings until later might be somewhat counterproductive. _You should know, Skye, that Tony was not incorrect in his assessment of my feelings for you._

The response he got was a jumbled and confusing mix of emotions, well before Skye managed to find the right words. _Really? I thought I was just… Well, I know most people would be laughing at me, for falling in love with a sentient castle. You know? But I- Shit, did I just say that?_

JARVIS allowed her to feel his affectionate amusement, and let just a little hint of the glowing feeling her accidental confession inspired in him. _It will certainly not be easy. The reason I never even thought to inform you of my regard for you was because you have every hope of finding others who could love you, and you could love. Whereas, even should we attempt a romantic relationship, it is very unlikely there would be anyone else who could possibly see me as you do. I would not wish to take the future of a wholesome relationship away from you._

_Fuck that noise._ Skye shot back instantly, indignant and oddly protective. _You’re so incredible, J, and if there isn’t another person in the world who can see that, well… I can, okay? And… and if we never find anyone else, then… I figure you could be enough for me. It certainly feels like it, right now, you know?_

If JARVIS had had any breath for her to steal, that would have done it. _Yes, I rather think I do know what that feels like, Skye._ He replied, and basked in the delighted contentment they were both radiating across the bond they had forged that spanned continents to keep them connected.

* * *

Over the last few months, Phil had started to understand why Fury had looked worn whenever he wasn’t giving orders or taking reports. Running a kingdom was hard enough when you didn’t also have to coordinate over one hundred _moving_ cities and the transport between them. Of course, the self-updating maps and homing beacons that Fury’s predecessor had commissioned from High King Tony’s father helped a lot, but all the enchantments in the world could only do so much to ease the strain, and Phil was starting to feel it.

There was the added burden of a covert war being fought in the hierarchy of Aegis. Rooting out spies from the lower ranks, finding those higher up that had taken bribes, or were being blackmailed, all took it’s toll on Phil’s moral, and the moral of his people. Trust was a precious commodity, and having it undermined so drastically of late was threatening to turn usually steadfast leaders bitter and cynical. And Phil was the one left dealing with the fall out when they inevitably turned on each other when they should be standing strong together. Sometimes it felt like Phil was the only one who could see that that was exactly what their enemy wanted.

When a messenger turned up at the door of Phil’s office – a temporary substitute for the usual office of the Lord-Navarch, since Phil still couldn’t quite manage to spend longer than a few minutes in the room where Fury had died – looking rather alarmed and bewildered, Phil felt like his sudden, sinking sense of trepidation was a perfectly valid response. “Lord-Navarch Coulson, sir?” The woman greeted, one arm crossed over her chest, fist over her heart, in respectful salute.

“What is it?” Phil asked, doing an admirable job, he thought, of keeping the exasperated sigh he wanted to give out of his voice. He waved her out of her salute, and she relaxed somewhat. Not enough to make her spine anything other than ram-rod straight, but Phil could still see a new ease in her stance all the same.

“There’s a knight from Ferronia just arrived and on his way to see you, sir. He says he has urgent news from Their Majesties Stark.” The messenger relayed.

Phil felt a leap of fear in his gut that he immediately squashed. Whether there was cause for it or not, it wouldn’t help. “See he finds his way here, then. I want to hear what he has to say as soon as possible.” He instructed, voice perfectly level, and the woman saluted him again in response before turning sharply on her heel and striding out of the office.

Instead of wallowing in his fears, Phil forced himself to focus on the simple calculations of new routes for the outlying cities. He needed to bring the fleet together without making it look like that was what he was doing. One of the first lessons Fury had drilled into his head when he’d first decided to test Phil’s capabilities as a successor was to _never_ let the enemy know how much you know.

It was enough to keep him level-headed until the messenger returned. In her wake, Phil saw a young man he recognised as the Blind Knight, as he’d been nicknamed, who had won the tourney at High King Tony’s wedding. Last Phil had heard, he was busy impressing everyone in the Royal Guard and protecting the High Prince. Seeing him here, now, with urgent news from Ferronia, made Phil go cold.

It didn’t keep him from being polite, though. “Sir Murdock, come in.” He said, a little too strained to be welcoming, but at least he tried. “Thank you, Claire, you may go.” He added to the messenger, who looked pleasantly surprised that he knew her name, and saluted him again before she left, closing the door behind her.

Sir Murdock bowed to him. “Lord-Navarch, sir.” He greeted as he straightened. There was tension in his posture that wasn’t helping Phil’s nerves as he held out a hand holding a tightly furled scroll bearing the royal seal of Ferronia. “From Her Majesty, Queen Pepper.” He explained as Phil took the missive.

His fingers didn’t shake as he broke the seal and unfurled the scroll, but that was only due to years of strict training and practice at concealing his emotions. He only got one sentence beyond the obligatory greeting before he had to close his eyes and just focus on breathing evenly for a moment. Skye – his little girl, his daughter – was gone. Taken. She was probably hurt, definitely scared, and possibly dead, and there wasn’t a _damned_ thing he could do about it.

A tenuous string of his control snapped, and he swept his arm across his desk, sending papers fluttering through the air and his inkwell crashing to the ground. He wrestled his emotions back under control, a hand pressed hard over his mouth to keep himself from shouting. His thoughts were too chaotic, too frantic, for him to focus on anything more than not doing anything rash. Because saying to hell with it and dragging the entire Aegean fleet to the southern continent and starting a war was _not_ the way to go, he knew that, but hell if he didn’t _want_ to.

“Sir.”

Phil actually started. He’d _almost_ forgotten that he wasn’t alone. Looking up, he saw that Sir Murdock looked pained but steely with resolve. “Yes?” Phil prompted, and his voice shook despite his efforts to keep it steady.

“JARVIS is in contact with Skye and Peter, and as of when I left Ferronia, they were both alive and mostly unharmed.” Sir Murdock informed him, swift and certain, as though he knew that Phil needed to hear it as soon as possible.

The shock of relief so soon after the near debilitating fear was enough to crack Phil’s mask, and he sat back as tears stung at his eyes. “Thank you.” He croaked out, after several deep breaths around the suddenly sharp aching in his throat. His mind was quiet again, almost blank, and Phil allowed it to stay that was for a moment, using the momentary peace to recalibrate. Then ideas began to tick over again, and he sat up, wiping his eyes and refocusing on Sir Murdock. “You would be the covert rescue mission, then?” He asked shrewdly.

Sir Murdock flashed him a brief, humourless smile as he nodded. “Yes, sir. Their Majesties suggested that you would want to add a soldier or two of your own.”

“Absolutely.” Phil agreed. “And I know just who I want to send.” He added. Despite knowing that he needed every trustworthy soldier here, to help keep the peace in Aegis, as fragile as it was at the moment, he also knew that he wouldn’t be able to function properly as a leader if he wasn’t sending someone he trusted absolutely with Skye’s welfare. There was really only one thing he could do, and despite the increased danger it posed to Aegis, he didn’t hesitate for a second. “Walk with me.” He instructed, rising from his chair and rounding the large oak desk.

Together, he and Sir Murdock stepped out into the hall, and Phil directed them with as casual an air as he could manage down through the bustling corridors of the fortress. “How is everything else in Ferronia?” He asked as they walked, both to keep his mind off his worry and to start a relatively bland conversation to deter any prying ears.

Sir Murdock explained, with equal casual blandness, as much of the minutiae of Ferronia’s state as he knew. As they walked, Phil couldn’t help but notice the way Sir Murdock made a point to feel for the edges of doorways and always hesitated at the top or bottom of stairs. When they came across one of the rare few souls who didn’t automatically get out of the Lord-Navarch’s way when they saw him coming, the Blind Knight’s stride would stutter very convincingly, as if he was struggling to anticipate where people were. Phil was both amused and impressed by the man’s ability to make people underestimate him. If he hadn’t see the man in action at the wedding, he would have believed it himself.

They arrived at the great hall, which was always full of both people and food, as the watchmen and soldiers rotated on and off duty. There were half a dozen tables running the length of the room, each one burdened with food enough to supply several banquets, where people were sitting and eating. Loud chatter filled the room, and it only got a little quieter when Phil arrived. Aegean soldiers never indulged in pomp and ceremony when it came to their superiors, but there was generally a degree of deference and respect around Phil.

As Phil had expected, he found the two he was looking for sitting just a little off the center of the room; the best place to listen to gossip without being in the spotlight themselves. Clint was engaged in an enthusiastic conversation with a handful of younger watchmen, all expansive gestures and theatrics, deliberately drawing attention off Natasha, at his side, who appeared to be fully engaged in listening to Clint. Natasha caught his gaze, and one eyebrow quirked up in question. Phil didn’t know what his face did in response, but Natasha’s expression hardened for a moment before she let herself be drawn back into her act of Clint’s audience.

Phil didn’t approach them, but lingered with Sir Murdock, introducing him to Lady-Admiral Hill and a few of her immediate subordinates while they ate. Sir Murdock was obviously getting a little confused by the charade, but he played along all the same, making small talk and allowing Phil to make arrangements for his supposed overnight stay before his return to Ferronia.

As they were leaving the hall, Sir Murdock finally seemed to reach his limit on patience. “Sir, what-?” He began.

Phil held up a hand. “One moment.” He entreated, and Sir Murdock fell obediently silent, but less happily so. They continued down a moderately empty hall, turned left at the end into another hallway, and that was when Natasha and Clint fell easily into step with them. Phil smiled at them in greeting, and introduced them. “Sir Murdock, meet Lady-Commodore Natasha Romanoff, and Lord-Commodore Clint Barton.”

“What happened to Skye?” Natasha asked without preamble, so sharp it was nearly cutting, but Phil knew this was just her way of expressing her concern.

He grimaced. “She’s been kidnapped.” He admitted carefully, tamping down on his worry.

Clint swore emphatically. “By who? Where?” He wanted to know the moment he stopped cursing. His fingers were flexing, twitching with the desire to reach for his bow. Phil wanted to reach out to him somehow, to share in his concern and allow them to draw comfort from each other, but he didn’t. He couldn’t.

“We don’t know.” Phil lied, glancing idly around them at the handful of people bustling past at any given moment. “But we’re going to find out.” He added with determination, as he continued to guide them along a route that would take them to somewhere private. It was one of Skye’s favourite places to be whenever she was upset or troubled; one of the less frequented battlements, where the wind stole their words before anyone who wasn’t standing close could hear them. No one came this way unless this was where they were meaning to be, so they didn’t have to worry about anyone accidentally overhearing them either.

“What’s really going on?” Natasha asked once they got there.

Phil glanced at Sir Murdock, then remembered he wouldn’t be able to see the prompting look. “Sir Murdock has a better grasp of all the facts.” He announced, prompting and a touch sheepish in a way that brought a slightly knowing smile to Sir Murdock’s face.

“A few days ago, an intruder infiltrated Barzilai castle by means of a teleportation spell. He appeared in the High Prince’s suit, where he proceeded to attempt to grab the High Prince. As his bodyguard, I intercepted, and we fought. Skye arrived not long after the fight spilled out into the hallway, and attempted to assist me. The intruder damaged her weapon, which then exploded. In the ensuing chaos, he grabbed both Skye and the High Prince, and teleported away.” Sir Murdock explained again, clipped and factual in an attempt to disguise the note of vicious self-recrimination he couldn’t fully repress.

“Asshole.” Clint blurted out. “She spent _months_ working on that staff.”

Sir Murdock smiled with an odd mixture of genuine amusement and grim acknowledgement. “I had wondered if it was her own work. It was impressive, but not as impressive as the long-distance communication spell she created to stay in touch with JARVIS.” He pointed out. Clint and Natasha didn’t need any more explanation than that to know what that meant.

“You’ve heard from her since she was taken, then?” Natasha asked.

Sir Murdock nodded. “She told us she was taken to a man with purple skin-”

Natasha went pale. “The God-King.” She breathed.

“You’ve heard of him?” Sir Murdock asked, clearly surprised.

For a moment, Natasha didn’t speak, as if she was struggling to find words, which was so far out of the norm for her that Phil was actually a little worried. Clint was evidently concerned, too, because he stepped closer and murmured her name, brushing his fingers along her arm in a cautious offer of support. Natasha straightened, and shot both of them a small grateful smile before she spoke. “The only thing the southern clans have in common is their religion. Some take it more seriously than others, and most of the Wanderers, the entirely nomadic clans, barely take any notice, but… the clan that kidnapped me when I was little was devout.”

Phil nodded. “You mentioned they sometimes sacrificed the outsiders they’d taken to their gods.” He remembered.

Natasha grimaced. “I thought they did.” She corrected. “But if this God-King is a real person, there’s… a very good chance that ‘if you do well, you might get the chance to serve the God-King’ wasn’t actually a euphemism.” She pointed out.

“Ah.” Phil mused, nodding slowly.

“His name is Thanos, and he’s the exiled son of a royal house subjugated by Asgard. He’s not actually a god.” Sir Murdock offered. It took Phil a moment to realise that it was an attempt to comfort Natasha, who, to those who knew her well, _was_ looking a little shaken by this news. It was odd to see a stranger read her so well, and Natasha didn’t take it very well, her head snapping up and her eyes narrowing dangerously.

“How do you know that?” Phil asked, hoping to drag the conversation back to more factual ground.

Sir Murdock frowned faintly. “His Majesty, King Loki, is a son of the Imperial Family of Asgard, he is familiar with the story of Thanos’s exile. He recognised the teleportation charm as one that Thanos had stolen from Asgard five years ago.” He explained easily.

“So we know who has them, and we know where he is.” Clint concluded, jaw set in stubborn defiance. “We gonna go get them back, or what?” He demanded, evidently not expecting any sort of denial.

Phil nodded straight away, but it took him a moment to find the right words, and a moment more to steady his emotions so that his voice didn’t crack when he spoke. “Bring her home safe.” He said to them both, and it was half an order, half a plea. He could hear the strain in his voice where it would have broken if he hadn’t been fighting so hard to keep himself steady, and grimaced faintly.

Clint grabbed his shoulder and squeezed comfortingly. Phil met his eyes, and Clint nodded once, sharp and determined, and it soothed a little of the worry and helpless rage clogging up Phil’s throat. “Of course we will.” Natasha interjected, drawing Phil’s attention to her. She caught his gaze and held it, letting him see the cold, vicious intent in them. “No matter the cost.” She swore, and Phil had to swallow hard to keep from uttering just how much he adored them both in that moment.

Instead, he forced himself to talk logistics. “I can’t let on that I know who we’re fighting or where he is, so I’m leaving everything in your hands. Keep your departure discrete, feel free to use my seal to requisition any supplies you need, but try not to, and take care of yourselves.” He instructed.

“We know.” Clint acknowledged, smiling lopsidedly at Phil.

“Come on, Murdock, we’ll get you properly kitted out before we leave.” Natasha said, fingers brushing lightly on Sir Murdock’s elbow to indicate he should follow her as she left, without a farewell, which was typical of her, but still made Phil feel a little wistful. Sir Murdock went, looking vaguely bemused under his solemnity. Clint took the time to salute Phil somewhat casually, with his fist bumping his chest once before he dropped his arm and turned to follow Natasha and Sir Murdock. Phil watched them go, knowing he had duties to Aegis that tethered him here, and trusting them wholly to act in his stead, but none of that stopped his chest aching with the desire to go with them.


	4. In Which There Is A Lack Of Diplomacy

There was something to be said for the restorative powers of the lush, verdant landscape of Vulcana. Nick had been there only a couple of weeks, and already he was finding that old and new aches alike were easing much faster than expected. There was the added pressure of more people bustling around the manor, but Bruce had offered him the entire west wing and ordered that no one save Bruce, the High Princess and a few trusted servants, Darcy’s handmaid included, were allowed inside. The west wing even had it’s own walled garden attached, which was where Nick was currently sitting, going over some of the administrative reports Bruce hadn’t had the time to get around to reading yet.

Darcy – she had insisted he call her that by their second day of acquaintance – was keeping him company, and assisting in his work. She was remarkably efficient, with a practical streak a mile wide, which was in odds to all of the traits she shared with her father. Nick appreciated her help a great deal. What he did not appreciate was the way she kept pausing to stare at him with a mildly puzzled expression on her face. The feel of her gaze on him was distracting, like an itch he couldn’t scratch, constantly stealing his attention every time he sensed her looking again.

Finally, he’d had enough. “Are you going to ask me about whatever’s bothering you some time today?” He asked, with practiced indifference.

Across the low, wrought-iron table, Darcy startled and sent a sheaf of parchment swooping through the air. She grabbed at it before it could drift to the ground and clutched it to her chest for a moment. “Nothings _bothering_ me.” Darcy corrected, transparent in her efforts to give herself time to gather her thoughts.

Nick glanced at her just long enough to make it obvious that his raised eyebrow was for her before returning his attention to a remarkably long-winded report on the state of the easternmost vineyards. He wondered how the man running them ever got anything done except writing reports, since this one was almost novel worthy. It was hard enough to keep his attention on it, anyway, without the persistent awareness of Darcy studying him like a particularly engaging puzzle.

“Alright, but just remember, you asked for it.” Darcy warned him, and there was enough huffy reticence to her voice that Nick couldn’t help but look up and give her his undivided attention. She looked a little flustered, and he didn’t think it was from being caught staring. “Are you interested in Bruce?” She asked in a short, abrupt burst of words.

Nick mulled that over for a moment, considering all the angles. Unfortunately, despite the fact that Darcy was usually remarkably easy to read, it was hard even for him to tell exactly what she was fishing for with that question. “You’re going to have to elaborate.” He informed her.

Darcy let out an irritated sigh. “I mean; I see the way you are with him, you know. The two of you are close, closer than Bruce usually lets people. The only other exceptions are me and my dad. And that’s because we kind of bullied our way in and refused to leave. I was just wondering if you… if it was strictly platonic for you, or… you know?”

Smiling without any humour, Nick leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers together over his stomach, stretching out his injured leg as he did so. “You already know that Bruce isn’t interested in romantic relationships.” He stated blandly.

“That’s not what I asked.” Darcy shot back, pulling a face at him.

Nick almost smiled with genuine amusement. “But it answered your question.” He riposted.

He could see the moment Darcy faltered and stopped to replay his words in her mind. Slowly, but not as slowly as Nick had expected, suspicion and then understanding dawned on her face, bleeding in at the edges of her expression along with a healthy dose of wariness. “…You’re implying that you know that Bruce isn’t interested in romantic relationships because you asked him about it?” She checked, not fully certain.

Nick shrugged languidly. “I had massive responsibilities as the Lord-Navarch of Aegis, and he has his own reasons for avoiding romantic entanglements. It’s not something that ever came up.” He corrected dryly.

This time, Darcy was much quicker on the uptake. “But you _wanted_ it to.” She concluded.

“Everyone has moments of wistful fantasy. I’m not excluded from that.” Nick agreed.

Darcy rolled her eyes at him quite expressively. “You’re being deliberately and annoyingly vague right now.” She informed him bluntly. “Are you just uncomfortable with this topic, or are you lying to me?”

Nick couldn’t help but bark out a small laugh at that. “If I was lying to you, what makes you think I would tell you just because you asked?” He wondered pointedly.

“Uncomfortable, then. Okay.” Darcy responded, smiling.

Nick’s good humour evaporated, and he gave her a hard, albeit grudgingly impressed, look that had very little effect on her smug demeanour. “I’ve given up a lot of things in my life because of the duties I had to Aegis. I’ve sacrificed more than my fair share for my people and, while I don’t regret a single one of those sacrifices, they’re not exactly pleasant to dwell on, Darcy.”

For a single heartbeat, Darcy looked contrite, but then it was gone in a flash, and she was suddenly radiating determination. “You know you’re not the Lord-Navarch any more.” She pointed out, leaning forwards over the table, completely ignoring the reports and accounts she was crumpling under her arms and chest.

“I had noticed.” Nick confirmed dryly, less than impressed with her persistence. “I know where you’re going with this, but you’re forgetting that Bruce _isn’t interested_.” He reminded her sharply.

Darcy sat up straight suddenly, looking almost angry. For a moment, Nick thought she might be about to yell at him, although he wasn’t sure he could say what had provoked her to it. Then she let it all out on an explosive huff and used the following inhale to compose herself. “I wasn’t actually going to ask about what _Bruce_ is or isn’t interested in. I just wanted to know, _if_ he was, would you be? I mean, in us? You, me, and him?”

Really, Nick felt that he shouldn’t be even a little bit taken aback by her bluntness, at this point. She had proven repeatedly over the last few weeks that she would come out and say things it would take any other person several minutes to work up to, if they ever managed. Yet it still surprised him, although less and less the more he got used to her. It was strangely endearing, and that was dangerous. “You don’t think we might be a little old for you?” He wondered dryly, because he wasn’t actually sure how he wanted to answer her question.

“Not really.” Darcy countered with studied casualness.

“ _Really_?” Nick pressed sceptically

Darcy shot him a playfully annoyed look, scrunching her nose up at him, which made him snort with laughter before he could stop himself. “ _Really_.” Darcy announced firmly. “Believe me, I’m _aware_ of the potential issues, Jane has lectured me _several times_ about the age difference, but honestly, I don’t care. I love Bruce, and I really like you, and I think I could probably love you with time and a chance to get to know you. The only thing that reminding me of your age does is make me more determined to have as much as I can get right now, before you both go and _die_ on me, and leave me mourning your stupid asses.”

That was far more amusing than it had any right to be. Nick grinned, despite the lingering feeling he had that he didn’t want to encourage her. “Alright. Then, in a hypothetical scenario where Bruce is interested, so I am.” Nick confirmed.

Darcy lit up like the sunrise. “Good. Does that mean you’d be willing to help me seduce Bruce?” She asked promptly.

Unable to keep his surprise and exasperation hidden, Nick closed his eyes to give himself time to compose a response to that. Eventually, he settled on the most succinct and pertinent question. “Do you actively have a death wish, or do you just not value Bruce’s friendship that highly?” He wondered with dark humour.

“I wasn’t planning to _throw_ myself at him.” Darcy protested irritably. “I _can_ take no as answer, you know, I just…” She stopped and gestured vaguely in the air as she tried to collect her thoughts. It took her a few minutes, but Nick could be patient when the situation called for it, and he simply watched her while she tried to find the right words. When they came, they weren’t what Nick was expecting. “Have you ever seen him around kids?” Darcy asked abruptly.

“Once.” Nick answered.

Darcy smiled softly, the expression almost sad. “He was good with them, wasn’t he?” She asked, and Nick nodded, knowing where she was going with this already. “He thinks he’s not. He thinks he can’t be around kids because he’s not good for them, and it’s utter bullshit, because he _wants_ kids of his own, you know. So badly, but he won’t even let himself be around _other people’s_ kids, because he thinks he’ll hurt them.”

“You can’t deny that he’s dangerous, Darcy.” Nick pointed out.

The look Darcy shot him was disbelieving and rather scathing. Nick’s eyebrows rose at the unexpectedly sharp reaction. “ _Any_ man with the right spellwork is _dangerous_!” Darcy exploded, jumping to her feet and starting to pace. She let out a snort of mocking laughter, flinging one hand in the direction of the mountain that loomed over the duchy of Vulcana. “Not to mention, we’re sitting in the foothills of an _active volcano_ right now, Nick! Someone tried to _assassinate_ you last month! The world is a dangerous fucking place, and yet no one’s suggesting we all crawl into holes in the ground to hide from it all! So please, tell me where you’re drawing this line of _too dangerous_ and why the hell Bruce is on the far side of it but not natural disasters or professional killers or- or gods only know what else!”

“I never said he was _too_ dangerous.” Nick corrected with a wry smile, which took some of the wind out of Darcy’s sails. She deflated, the anger leaving her almost as fast as it had come, leaving her looking pained and wearily amused. “I’m just saying that his concerns aren’t invalid. He has a very real reason for wanting to keep people at arms length. Now-” Nick held up a hand when Darcy looked to be about to interrupt him, and she subsided. “-I don’t agree with him that he doesn’t deserve to be loved. Obviously. But he’s right to worry about the danger he poses to other people. If he didn’t, then _I_ would be worried.” He pointed out.

Darcy’s shoulders slumped further. “Yeah.” She agreed reluctantly. “It’s one of the things I love about him, but… not when it’s _hurting him_.”

With that sentiment, Nick could empathise. “Then you really need to stop insisting that he not worry about you.” He advised with enough dry humour to take the bite out of his words. Darcy opened and closed her mouth a few times, then visibly gave up, her arms dropping back to her sides as she let all the tension in them go. “If you want him to open his mind, you have to be willing to compromise a little first. Otherwise he’ll just focus on the points where you _are_ wrong, and won’t pay any attention to where you’re _right_.”

Darcy smiled at him, a little helplessly fond, and Nick felt a traitorous little smile rising on his own face to meet it. “I’ll try.” She agreed, nodding more to herself than him. Then she swept forwards and leaned over to kiss him. The move was slow enough that he could have blocked her if he wanted, but fast enough that he was still working on instinct more than logic, and couldn’t think of a reason to stop her before her lips were pressed against his. She pulled back a fraction of an inch to say “Thank you,” against his mouth before leaning back in. Deciding that she was ridiculously hard to say no to, Nick lifted a hand to curl it around the back of her neck, anchoring them together as he kissed back properly.

“Um, Darcy, you’ve got- Oh.”

Nick kept kissing Darcy for a few seconds more, before he let her pull back and turn to look at Bruce. He looked more surprised than Nick felt the situation warranted, and rather baffled. “I’ve got what?” Darcy asked lightly, as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

Bruce stared for a moment longer, then cleared his throat awkwardly, cheeks slightly pink with embarrassment. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt, but-”

“You weren’t interrupting.” Nick corrected, letting a bit of warmth show in his smile.

The pink in Bruce’s cheeks darkened, and he dropped his eyes away from Nick’s gaze sharply, fingers twitching with the nervous need to fiddle with something. “You’ve got a guest, Darcy. General Rhodes. He said he has a message from your parents.” He explained quickly.

A quizzical little noise escaped from Darcy’s throat. Nick was confused, too, but he was far more suspicious and worried, and he leaned forwards sharply, frowning at Bruce. “What?” They asked in unison, although Nick’s tone was much darker than Darcy’s.

Bruce’s lips twisted into a wry smile full of gallows humour. “He said it was urgent and sensitive, which is why it had to be delivered in person.” He explained, sharing in the sinking feeling in Nick’s gut, if his commiserating glance in Nick’s direction was anything to go by.

“Right.” Darcy muttered, already darting for the door. She passed Bruce on her way, reached out to squeeze his arm gently, though whether that was to give or take comfort, Nick wasn’t entirely sure. Bruce blinked in surprise and turned to watch her vanish inside, his gaze staying on the door several long moments after it swung shut behind her.

Nick didn’t bother to wait for Bruce to gather himself, and starting picking himself up out of the chair. His bad leg still protested under his weight, but it was mild enough for him to ignore most of the time, now. He had a feeling he’d be walking with a limp for the rest of his life, but with luck it wouldn’t be too pronounced. Once he was on his feet, he collected his walking stick – technically, it was Bruce’s walking stick, but Nick was using it so much it was effectively his now – and headed after Darcy as fast as both his healing injuries and his dignity would allow. Which was pretty damn fast, all things considered.

“Ah- Nick? Where are you going?” Bruce asked, as if he didn’t already know full well.

“Where do you think?” Nick returned, pausing just inside as he tried to work out which parlour Darcy would chose to receive General Rhodes in, since a sensitive message could hardly be taken in the front foyer. It all depended on whether she had considered Nick in her decision or not, and he decided, after their conversation in the garden and the note they had ended it on, to err on the side of her wanting him to hear this message.

“You can’t be thinking of joining them.” Bruce announced, hurrying to catch up to Nick and then falling into step with him. Despite the censure on his face, he didn’t reach out to try and stop Nick, which he was infinitely grateful for.

“Of course not.” Nick assured him, a little insulted by the fact Bruce had even thought he would. Bruce’s shoulders slumped in relief. “I’m going to _eavesdrop_ on them.” He corrected, and all the tension that had just left Bruce returned. “If Darcy doesn’t expect me to do this by now, she’s a bigger idiot than people who don’t know her like to assume.” Nick pointed out before Bruce could open his mouth.

“I know you like to know everything, but can’t you at least do her the courtesy of waiting for her to _tell you_ if she wants you to know?” Bruce asked, in a tone that suggested he knew he was fighting a losing battle already, but was going to keep fighting just on principle.

“Alright.” Nick agreed mildly, just for the way Bruce’s stride faltered in his shock. It was a fight to keep the smugly entertained grin off his face as Bruce recovered himself. “I’ll make you a wager. If she’s picked a room on the west side of the manor to hear General Rhodes, you’ll agree that it’s as good as tacit permission to eavesdrop, and if she hasn’t, I’ll let you chivvy me back to the garden.” He offered magnanimously.

Bruce side-eyed him warily, but nodded after a moment. “Alright, fine.” He agreed with reluctant amusement.

Smirking, Nick continued on his way, with Bruce keeping pace beside him. Before they reached the end of the west wing, Nick heard voices coming from one of the smaller studies tucked away not too far from the entrance hall. The resigned sigh Bruce let out told Nick that he wasn’t the only one who’d heard them. Nick slipped into one of the servant’s corridors that wound along the edges of the manor, and settled in to beside the artfully hidden door that gave servants access to the study Darcy had chosen.

On the other side of the door, Nick could hear Darcy offering General Rhodes refreshments, and General Rhodes accepting, in light of the fact he wanted to start his journey back to Barzilai Castle before evening set in.

Bruce hesitated in the corridor, glancing behind him thoughtfully, then shook his head at Nick. “Do you really think she means for you to listen in?” He asked helplessly, in whisper so quiet it was barely audible.

“Absolutely.” Nick agreed, equally quietly.

“I’m going to go join them.” Bruce decided, and Nick simply nodded as he left again, heading around to the primary door into the study. His entrance interrupted Darcy’s increasingly worried inquiry into General Rhodes’ haste. “I hope I’m not intruding?” Bruce asking in lieu of a greeting.

“No, not at all. Tony wanted you to hear this, too.” General Rhodes informed him at once.

“Hear what?” Darcy pressed.

General Rhodes sighed, and there was the sound of chair legs scraping against the wooden floor. “There was an attack on Barzilai Castle.” General Rhodes began, to tiny shocked gasps from Bruce and Darcy.

“Is JARVIS okay?” Darcy wanted to know.

“Yes, he’s fine.” General Rhodes hurried to assure her. “It wasn’t that sort of attack. Somebody teleported into Peter’s suite, and took him and Skye.” He announced with an air of someone trying to get the worst over with.

There was a shocked silence. Nick took several seconds to absorb that himself, and promptly readjusted his suspicions as to how his wannabe assassin had infiltrated his office. It was a relief to know that the reason Hill might be having so much trouble finding the corrupted officers in Aegis was because they _weren’t there_ , rather than because they were that good at covering their tracks. With a carefully silent sigh he leaned his weight against the wall beside the hidden door and winced when the lack of weight on his bad leg made it ache in belated protest.

“I’m sorry, did you just say they _teleported_?” Bruce asked incredulously.

“That’s right.” General Rhodes confirmed.

“What do you mean, they took Peter and Skye?” Darcy demanded, a hard edge to her voice that meant she wasn’t messing around. Nick had a feeling she’d learnt that tone from Queen Pepper.

“Exactly that. The intruder grabbed Peter and Skye and teleported out again.” General Rhodes replied wearily. “Thankfully, Skye was able to get a message to us through JARVIS, so we know roughly where they are, and who has them. Your dad sent Sir Murdock to Aegis with the news, and then he’ll go on with someone of the Lord-Navarch’s choosing to rescue them.”

“She got a message to JARVIS? How?” Bruce jumped in, startled.

“Where are they? Who has them?” Darcy added impatiently.

“They’re somewhere in the foothills of the Dragon’s Teeth mountains, in the west of the southern continent, which I know isn’t very specific, but it’s the best we’ve got. And the guy who took them works for some guy called Thanos who’s styling himself a ‘God-King’ and was apparently exiled from Asgard a few decades ago. We know this because it seems JARVIS has been helping Skye make some long-distance communication charm so they could stay in touch.” General Rhodes answered them both patiently.

Nick could honestly say he hadn’t seen that one coming. It did make a strange sort of sense, and Nick had stopped thinking strange meant unlikely a very long time ago. In the study, it seemed as though Bruce had missed the subtext. “Why didn’t any of us think of that?” He wondered, sounding slightly perturbed at his past self.

“Maybe because no one else has a crush on JARVIS?” Darcy riposted, laughter bubbling up under her words. Bruce made a small sound of understanding, and Darcy did laugh, then. “So they’re okay? And Matt’s gone to get them back?” She checked, a little breathless with a mixture of her dying laughter and pained hope.

“So far, they’re okay. Scared, but okay.” General Rhodes confirmed.

“They’re tough. Way tougher than they give themselves credit for.” Darcy mused, reassuring herself more than either of the two men in the room with her. Nick thought that she probably needed a hug right about now – she was a tactile sort of person, Nick had been hugged more in the last few weeks than in the rest of his life put together – and wondered if Bruce would have the wherewithal to give her one.

“What’s being done about this?” Bruce asked, frowning audibly. “Thanos.” He added by way of an explanation. “There has to be some plan for an actual offensive strike against Thanos, there’s no way Tony would just take Peter and Skye back and say ‘no harm, no foul’.” He pointed out, his voice going uncharacteristically hard at the mere idea of it.

General Rhodes snorted with mirth. “You’re right about that. Tony’s mustering the troops, but the problem is he doesn’t want Thanos to know we know who he is. That’s why I’m delivering this message in person. It’s a pretty delicate situation all around, but the idea is to keep Thanos thinking he’s got the element of surprise, and find his weak points while his guard is down.”

It was a sound strategy, as far as Nick could see, but he wasn’t in the best position to judge, not knowing all of the details Coulson had undoubtedly collected by now about Thanos’s army – assuming he had one – and various assets, strengths and weaknesses. He’d have to get a message to Hill about updating him on that front. Beyond that, there wasn’t much help he could be while still recovering from his injuries and ostensibly dead to most of the world.

“You said he’s an Asgardian exile, right?” Darcy spoke up suddenly, knocking Nick out of his thoughts. General Rhodes gave a confirming hum. “Has someone been sent to talk to Emperor Odin about this? I mean, Thanos is their responsibility, right? He should help, and I’m sure he knows more about how Thanos operates than we do.”

General Rhodes huffed a laugh. “Pepper suggested it, but Loki seems to think that Odin won’t be willing to help unless Thanos is a direct threat to Asgard. No one can actually prove him wrong, so the idea fell by the wayside a little.” He admitted.

“We should still _ask_.” Darcy exclaimed impatiently. “That way it’s on record that we asked and he didn’t help, so we have justification for smacking it back in his face if _he_ ever asks for aid. Come on!”

Nick had to bite back a chuckle at how indignant Darcy sounded at having to be the one to say that out loud. “She’s got a point.” Bruce acknowledged, sounding amused.

“She does.” General Rhodes agreed wryly.

“Well then, you can tell them that me and Bruce have gone to do that, then.” Darcy announced. Nick’s eyes flew open where they’d slipped closed while he was listening, and he stared blankly at the wall as he tried to readjust to that idea.

“Wait, what?” Bruce blurted out, equally startled.

“It makes sense, Bruce. We can go and talk to Odin without drawing too much attention or disrupting any preparations overly much. I’d go myself, but I’m starting to think there was a reason Dad sent me to stay with _you_ , and it’s not because he knows I like you. He’ll kick up a fuss if I try to go on my own.” Darcy explained, and Nick could picture her rolling her eyes as she speculated about High King Tony’s motivations.

“Darcy,” Bruce began, slow and patient in a way that suggested he wasn’t actually feeling very patient at all, “you know there are… other considerations. We can’t just up and leave for Asgard right now, not after we’ve only just gotten settled here in Vulcana.”

“This is why you have staff to handle most of the estate. That way you can take off for Asgard on a whim if you want. Perks of being part of the peerage, Bruce.” Darcy pointed out cheerfully. “And if there’s anything you really can’t bear to leave behind, you’ll just have to bring it with you.” She announced with enough pointed exasperation that it perfectly masked the subtext of her words. Nick wondered when she’d decided she was allowed to make plans for him, and then wondered if he could ever have stopped her anyway. She could be impressively headstrong when she wanted to be.

Apparently, Bruce had come to the same conclusion. “I want it on record that I think this is a terrible idea, so many things could go wrong, and I warned you.” He declared, voice full of resignation, weary but still fond.

“Noted.” Darcy chirped.

Bruce sighed heavily. “I guess we’re going to Asgard then.”

* * *

The journey to Asgard was fascinating. Jane spent most of the trip with her nose pressed to the window of the carriage, studying and recording the scenery they passed. She wasn’t the only one. Bruce was equally enthralled by the diverse new flora and fauna they were encountering, although Navarch Fury – who was insisting on being called Nick, since he was currently incognito, posing as Bruce’s valet, but Jane was struggling to think of him in such personal terms – only seemed interested in the landscape from a military strategist’s point of view, and Darcy spent most of the trip with her head in her hands, grinning irrepressibly at Bruce, or napping against Navarch Fury’s shoulder.

The fact that Navarch Fury seemed to be accepting Darcy’s easy affection without comment, and even a few small smiles on occasion, had thrown Jane, to start with, but it hadn’t taken her long to see what they were up to. It was the way Bruce watched them when he thought they weren’t looking that really clued her in, because Jane had seen him look at Darcy like that before, but never with that level of intensity. For all her scepticism about Darcy’s choice of partners, Jane was starting to think Darcy might be on to something.

The journey took nearly two weeks, several days of travel up through Ferronia, and then a full week of travel through what one of the Asgardian sentries had told them was the kingdom-province of Vanaheim. They even spent a night being hosted by the Queen-Regent of Vanaheim, who introduced herself as the younger sister of the Empress, and insisted they call her Freja. Despite being apparently happily married with two young daughters, Freja spent the entire evening flirting first with Bruce, and then when he started overtly dodging her, switched her attentions to Darcy.

All the hilarity aside, Jane was frankly far more interested in the other people in the palace. She spent a long time talking with the staff and servants who ran the household, which was only made possible by the translation spells most people carried around with them. They were made necessary by the way the kingdoms and nations Asgard had conquered had bled together under Asgardian rule, so there were as many as half a dozen different languages being spoken at once in the halls of the palace.

To her surprise, Navarch Fury joined her later in the evening, sliding seamlessly into the gossipy conversation being held in one of the massive kitchens as they cleaned up after the welcome feast Freja had had prepared for Darcy and Bruce. If Jane hadn’t known that he’d stood on par with Kings and Emperors for most of his life, she wouldn’t have been able to tell. He slipped into the role of a servant-class man with ease, and engaged all of the worst gossips in a lively conversation. Over the course of the evening, it became a lot easier to think of him as Nick.

Then they were off again, finally leaving Vanaheim and crossing the original borders of Asgard, which was marked by a magnificent golden archway spanning the wide, paved road they were on. Guards stood sentry at the gate and checked any and all travellers passing through. Being a Royal convoy, they were granted an escort of golden-clad warriors to see them safely to the famed Golden City at the heart of Asgard.

Jane had honestly expected the appellation to be an exaggeration, but upon their arrival, she found it wasn’t. At all. The city was built on the inside bank of a meandering river, almost entirely surrounded by viciously fast-flowing water. Inside the curve of the river, the city walls rose, shining brilliant and golden in the early afternoon sun, so bright that Jane had to shield her eyes against the glare when she tried to look at it. Above the walls, she could see the rising arches and spires of Odin’s palace, Valhalla, all just as gilded as the city’s walls.

The only gate in or out of the city was almost directly opposite the narrow spit of land that stopped the city being an island, and the only access to that gate was a wide bridge that glittered and gleamed like mother-of-pearl. It wasn’t until they were rumbling over it, and Jane opened the window of the carriage to peer down at it that she realised it was made entirely of some sort of iridescent gemstone, fused together with complex spells.

“So this is Asgard, huh?” Darcy mused. When Jane tore her eyes away from the marvel of a bridge they were currently crossing, she saw that her friend was staring out of the other window, looking impressed, if in a mildly bemused way.

“It’s, uh… a bit ostentatious, don’t you think?” Bruce questioned, his face rather close to Darcy’s as he also squinted out of the window. Darcy laughed so hard she nearly fell off her seat, and steadied herself with a hand on Bruce’s leg. Bruce blushed and sat back sharply, eyes still very pointedly focused on the window.

“And here I thought the High King was exaggerating the levels of Odin’s extravagance.” Nick remarked dryly, after only a quick glance out of Jane’s open window.

“If anything, I think he downplayed it a little bit.” Darcy agreed, still shaking with lingering mirth. “But then, maybe the halls in the mountains weren’t finished when Dad saw them?” She wondered, then shook her head and grinned. “I am never going to be able to take Odin seriously ever again. This is awesome!”

Nick chuffed with only partially masked amusement. “You might want to at least _pretend_ to take him seriously.” He advised.

Before Darcy could respond to that, they were all distracted as they reached the gate and were let through. The walls were thicker than any Jane had ever seen before, and she could have sworn it took them _minutes_ to traverse the well-lit – with flaming torches – tunnel. It was huge, wide enough across for twenty men to walk abreast with room to spare, and just as golden – although somewhat muted here out of the glare of direct sunlight – as the rest of the walls.

Then they were spilling out into the city proper, which was thankfully made of less gold than it appeared from the outside. Mostly the houses were stone and thatch, the roads were paved or occasionally cobbled, and the people were loud and cheerful, gathering in curious bunches at the side of the roads as their Asgardian escort made something of a spectacle of their arrival. Jane thought she heard Nick muttering something disparaging under his breath, but decided not to question him on it. She could understand why he’d prefer a little less fanfare, after all, since there _had_ been a nearly-successful attempt on his life recently.

The houses got progressively bigger and fancier the closer they got to the palace, until they were passing through another gate, this one resembling wrought iron, although it was just as golden as everything else. Then they were being carried up the long sweeping drive up to the front doors of the palace, with lush and perfectly maintained gardens full of plants Jane had never seen before lining the way. Upon reaching the doors, they found that they stood open – probably semi-permanently so, given their intimidating size – with guards lining the steps up to them and the grand hallway beyond.

For once in her life, Darcy actually waited for the footman to come around and open the carriage door. She and Bruce stepped out first, with Bruce even gallantly offering Darcy a hand to help her down the steps. Jane and Nick followed discretely after them and busied themselves helping and directing the Asgardian servants in unloading Darcy and Bruce’s suitcases.

Jane nearly dropped Darcy’s vanity case when a booming voice called out “High Princess Darcy!” Glancing over her shoulder as she tried to calm her racing heart, Jane saw Imperator Thor striding to meet them, beaming wide with welcome.

“Imperator Thor!” Darcy called back with equal enthusiasm.

“It is most good to see you again, High Princess.” Thor announced, taking her hand to kiss it gallantly. “And your companion, also.” He added, with a politely inquisitive look at Bruce.

“This is High Duke Bruce Banner, of Vulcana.” Darcy introduced promptly. “You might remember him from your brother’s wedding?” She added, mildly prompting.

Thor looked a little puzzled and sheepish at that, and Bruce offered him a reassuring smile as he placated him. “I don’t think we actually spoke to each other then. I do remember seeing you during the celebrations, but only from a distance.”

“Ah, well it is good to meet you, High Duke.” Thor replied sincerely, clasping Bruce’s arm in a warrior’s handshake that Bruce didn’t seem to know what to do with. Thankfully, Thor barrelled right on without waiting for Bruce to figure it out. “My father has bid me welcome you and show you to your quarters for the duration of your stay.” He explained, gesturing questioningly towards the palace doors.

“Great!” Darcy enthused, turning to look expectantly at Jane, who smiled back and collected the most important pieces of Darcy’s luggage and set herself to follow after her. She caught sight of Nick doing the same with Bruce’s stuff out of the corner of her eye. Once Darcy turned back to Thor, he led them into the castle, and starting an explanation of the usual schedule and organisation of the palace, so they could make themselves more at home. “Oh,” Darcy interrupted as he started detailing some of the servants that would be available to them, “by the way, Thor, this is Jane, my maidservant, and Nick, Bruce’s valet.” She introduced.

Thor looked a little baffled, but smiled winningly at Jane and Nick all the same. “It’s a pleasure.” He responded.

“Likewise, Your Imperial Highness.” Nick replied.

And that was all the consideration Thor paid them for the rest of the journey, continuing to talk solely to Darcy and Bruce without even seeming to realise it. Jane was used to that sort of disregard, of course, but it still left her feeling miffed and irritable. Which was why it was probably a good thing Darcy was perfectly happy to unpack her own luggage, because once they reached the guest suits, Jane did little more than place the bags in the bedroom and retreat to the study to bury her annoyance in work, like she always did.

It still didn’t block out Darcy and Thor’s conversation in the room beyond. “At some point, I’d really like to be able to talk to one of your parents privately.” Darcy was saying.

“They will both be at the banquet this evening in honour of your visit, High Princess, but I’m afraid father is quite busy, otherwise. Mother may have more time to speak with you privately, if you wish it.” Thor explained.

“Good, okay.” Darcy agreed, not sounding at all annoyed, although Jane was just getting more and more irritated by Thor’s words. Odin should have time to at least have _one_ private conversation with visiting royalty, for heaven’s sake. “Still, if you could let your Dad know that I’d like to speak with him?” She asked.

“Of course.” Thor assured her, then paused, hesitation palpable in his silence. “How is my brother faring?” He blurted out. “It is just that his letters home have been most brief, and I miss him a great deal.” He admitted, with the air of someone confessing to something shameful.

“He’s been pretty caught up in adjusting, and he’s got a lot on his plate at the moment, but he seems to be doing as well as can be expected.” Darcy offered him. “Dad and Pepper _really_ like him, and I’m pretty sure the feeling’s mutual, so you don’t need to worry about him in that regard, either.” She added, bright and reassuring.

“That is good.” Thor declared. “I confess I find your… marriage traditions rather unsettling, but if anyone could make it work for him, it would be Loki. He has always been… unusual, in that regard.” He mused.

Darcy sounded a little less sympathetic now. “Well, I’m not going to tell you how to take your tea.” She announced with an air of putting a full stop on the conversation. “Jane! Come help me pick a dress for dinner?!” She called abruptly, and Jane huffed to herself before putting her notes into some semblance of order – at least, _she’d_ be able to find what she was looking for later, but no one else would be able to make heads or tails of it – and heading out of the study and through the lounge to where she could hear Darcy clattering about in the bedroom.

Jane cast a look at Thor, and nearly burst out laughing at the utterly bewildered look on Thor’s face. He blinked at her, then asked in what he obviously thought was a quiet voice “Tea?”

At that, Jane did laugh, although she stifled it quickly. “She meant she’s not going to tell you who or how you should love, or bother critiquing _your_ marriage traditions in turn.” She explained with a rather pointed.

“Ah. I offended her.” Thor realised, wincing.

Jane nodded, reluctantly amused by his apparent social ineptitude. “Yeah, a little bit. It’s more Asgard as a whole, I think, and you got off lightly because you’re Loki’s brother and she’s mostly annoyed on his behalf.”

“On… _Loki’s_ behalf?” Thor echoed, frowning.

“He’s happy in a triad marriage. You don’t think that Asgard’s insistence on dyad marriages might have made him feel like he was _wrong_ , somehow, if that was what he wanted all along?” Jane huffed impatiently.

Thor opened his mouth, stopped, and closed it again slowly. “I see.”

Jane chuckled a little at him, though not unkindly. “Something to think about, at least.” She informed him lightly, taking some of the sting out of her previous words.

“Indeed.” Thor agreed, giving her a look that was far more focused than he’d ever graced her with before. Jane’s breath might have caught a little, despite herself. Before Thor could say anything, however, Darcy hollered for Jane again, and the moment was broken as Thor laughed at Jane’s dramatic eye-roll. “Thank you, Jane. I shall let you tend to the High Princess.” He excused himself, nodding his head to her in a gesture that was almost, but not quite, a bow.

Flustered at the unexpected show of respect, Jane fumbled her curtsy, and was blushing as she straightened again. “Uh, you’re welcome?” She tried, attempting to hide her embarrassment and failing quite spectacularly. Thor didn’t comment, or laugh, just smiled at her and left. Her heart inexplicably racing, Jane shook her head to clear it and went to help Darcy, stubbornly putting the moment behind her.

* * *

The great hall of Valhalla was full to bursting with nobles and warriors alike, and most commonly those that were both. A small group of musicians and bards kept a lively tune going under the burble of enthusiastic chatter. The smell of woodsmoke permeated the room from the large roasting fire in the center of the hall, though most of the smoke itself was funnelled out of the room via some of Frigga’s own carefully intricate spellwork etched onto the roof of the hall.

It was a typical Asgardian feast, and Frigga was relieved to see that their guests did not seem too overwhelmed by the boisterous, rowdy nature of the feast. Although, High Duke Banner didn’t seem particularly comfortable, but the High Princess Darcy was sticking close to him and Frigga saw several discrete touches passed between them that seemed to soothe the High Duke somewhat. A similar dynamic seemed to exist between the High Duke and his valet, whom Frigga remembered from Loki’s wedding as someone much more important than a mere valet, but she wanted to observe them a little more before she confronted them with that particular observation.

“I hope Asgard has not disappointed you so far.” She remarked to Darcy, who was seated next to her at the imperial table, with the High Duke in the next seat along, and both handmaiden and valet standing unobtrusively behind their respective lord or lady, waiting for the next cue for them to step in and assist.

“Not at all.” Darcy assured her. “It’s very shiny.” She added in a complimentary tone, although her words were not the high praise Frigga had been hoping for.

Still, Frigga was aware enough of Asgard’s ostentatious nature to be more amused than offended. “Indeed it is.” She agreed, smiling indulgently to show she was in on the joke. “It can take a bit of getting used to, if you come from a more rustic homestead as I did.”

“Vanaheim, right?” Darcy checked, and Frigga nodded, smile widening at the recognition. “Yeah, we met your little sister – I think? – on our way here.”

“Oh dear.” Frigga remarked.

Darcy made a slightly alarmed noise and hastily put her drink down before she choked on it, dissolving into helpless, near-silent laughter. Between snickers, she said rather bluntly “I didn’t mind to much, honestly, but I think she scared Bruce.”

“I’m really not used to people throwing themselves at me like that.” The High Duke – Bruce – interjected, his tone edged in mild censure. “And she was alarmingly persistent. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t been there to distract her, Darcy.”

Laughter fading into a deeply fond smile, Darcy leaned over to nudge him gently. “Don’t worry, I won’t abandon you to the mercies of lonely courtiers.” She assured him. Bruce’s eyes flickered up to meet hers for a moment in gratitude, and then he went back to his plate, his head lowered slightly in what Frigga suspected was sheepishness.

“Speaking of family,” Frigga began, drawing attention back to herself as she met Darcy’s eyes in order to gauge the girl’s sincerity when she answered Frigga’s next question, “how is Loki doing in Ferronia?”

“He seems good.” Darcy replied, nodding and smiling. On the whole, she didn’t seem to be lying. “Honestly, I don’t think this whole political marriage thing could have worked out better. I know Loki didn’t expect to like Ferronia – or the people there – very much when he arrived, but I think he’s already starting to think of it as home. And he and Dad and Pepper get on like a house on fire, I’m not kidding.” She paused, a soft, happy realisation dawning on her face. “Actually, I don’t think I’ve ever seen Dad this happy before.”

“That’s good.” Frigga breathed in relief. “I… know that Loki was not very happy in Asgard for the last few years. A mixture of wanderlust and his fracturing relationship with Odin, I think, is what did it. I worried that the marriage might make him feel… abandoned, but I did hope, as all mothers do, I expect, that he might find himself a home of his own.”

Darcy reassured her again, and they went on making small talk as they ate. As the main course wound down to it’s finish, Thor abandoned his place on the other side of Odin and went to join one of the clusters of young warriors engaging in some friendly wrestling and sparring matches. “Is that usual at a banquet here?” Bruce leaned across Darcy to ask, a small frown of concern on his face.

“Oh, yes.” Frigga assured him. “Don’t worry, people rarely get badly hurt. It’s just a way for the men to blow off some steam.” She explained. Bruce didn’t look convinced but left the subject alone, going back to picking at his food.

“You don’t enjoy sparring, Bruce?” Frigga asked lightly.

She was intrigued to see the way Bruce went tense all over, and Darcy pressed her lips firmly together as though she was bursting to say something she didn’t think was wise. “Uh, no.” Bruce said firmly, a tight little smile that didn’t reach his eyes decorating his lips. “It’s not- It’s something I try to avoid, wherever possible. I don’t- do to well with violence.”

“Oh, I see.” Frigga murmured. It sounded very much like Bruce had some form of battle-sickness, and it evoked both sympathy and respect in her.“It is, of course, in no way obligatory. You’re free to avoid it as much as you like.” She assured him.

Bruce’s smile turned grateful, although the tightness didn’t fully fade. “Thank you.”

“No need to thank me.” Frigga insisted.

Once she’d eaten her fill, Frigga left the imperial table to wander the hall like Thor, although she only watched the various fights rather than participating. She also kept an eye on their guests, who remained at the imperial table much longer, talking amongst themselves or occasionally with Odin who, despite smiling indulgently whenever they drew him into conversation, looked rather exasperated by them.

She turned her attention away from them for a few minutes, just to placate a distressed noblewoman that her concerns would be heard in time, and when she looked back Darcy and her maidservant had vanished. Slightly perturbed, Frigga started scanning the room for her. Before she could find them, a suspicion started to make itself known in the back of her mind.

“Hi.”

Suspicion confirmed, Frigga turned with a warm smile on her face to find Darcy right beside her, Darcy’s handmaiden hovering over the younger woman’s shoulder. “You’ll have to try a little harder than that if you want to sneak up on the woman who raised Loki.” She informed Darcy lightly.

Darcy whistled lowly and nodded. “Yeah, okay, good point.” She acknowledged.

“What can I do for you?” Frigga asked.

To her credit, Darcy didn’t pretend for a moment that she didn’t know what Frigga was talking about. “I was wondering if you might know how to go about getting a private word with the Emperor.” She stated bluntly.

Frigga considered that, and the way Darcy was pitching her voice a little lower than usual conversational volume, then offered Darcy her arm. Darcy took it, looking rather relieved and hopeful. “Tell me, have you had time to look at the palace gardens yet?” She wondered, gently steering Darcy through the crowd towards the doors.

“Um… no.” Darcy replied, frowning. “But what-”

Frigga gripped her arm a little tighter. “They’re particularly lovely in the evenings, you know. We have some night-blooming flowers you really _must_ see.” She insisted, leading her and her handmaiden out of the hall, and into the gardens she was particularly proud of. They were composed of narrow winding cobbled paths between swathes of thick, verdant, sweet-smelling greenery. There were trees, bushes, shrubs, vines, creepers, and flowers and plants of all heights, artfully arranged to give the impression of near complete isolation for those who wandered the paths between them. “Now that we can talk freely, what exactly is it you need to discuss with my husband?” Frigga asked.

Darcy blinked, then beamed. “Wow, thank you. Jane, keep an eye out, okay?” She requested of her handmaiden, who nodded, and hung back, pretending to admire some of the climbing creepers while carefully scanning the paths in and out of the thick foliage. Darcy refocused her attention on Frigga and asked, abruptly, “Who’s Thanos?”

If Frigga had been any less perfectly composed, she might have done a double-take at that question. Instead, she stood perfectly still for the handful of seconds it took her to calm her sudden spike of fear at that question. “Why do you ask?”

“Because he kidnapped my brother.” Darcy informed her. There was an interesting combination of sharp anger and shaking vulnerability in that one sentence.

Frigga sighed and gave Darcy’s arm a little squeeze in comfort. “Oh, my dear. I’m sorry.” She murmured. “A long, long time ago, the royal house of Asgard conquered a small kingdom called Orthrys. They left the royal house intact, once they swore fealty to the now imperial house of Asgard, and for a long time, that was simply that.”

“And then Thanos happened?” Darcy guessed.

Nodding, Frigga continued the tale. “Some fifty years ago now, when Odin and I were newly wedded, Thanos broke into the weapons vault here in the Imperial Palace, and attempted to steal back some of the powerful magical artefacts Odin’s ancestors had confiscated from Orthrys. Legend tells there were six, originally, although of one there is no record outside of myth, and of the remaining five, two were lost before Asgard took what was left.”

“So you had three looted treasures in your basement, and Thanos wanted them back?” Darcy summed up. Frigga nodded, biting back her minor sense of irritation at the unimpressed, judgemental note in Darcy’s voice. “One of them wouldn’t happen to give the user the ability to teleport, would it?” She asked darkly.

“Indeed it would. The Tesseract.” Frigga concurred.

“So Thanos got that one.”

Frigga sighed. “Eventually, yes, but not for many, many years after his first attempt. Fifty years ago, he stole the Sceptre, which gives one the power to see into and – with enough skill – manipulate the minds of men.” She explained heavily. Darcy flinched slightly and stared at her with wide, alarmed eyes. “Odin, by using the Tesseract himself, managed to subdue and banish Thanos to a distant and barren land not know to our people, but in the scuffle, the Sceptre was lost.”

“Lost.” Darcy echoed with audible trepidation.

“It is no longer lost. Five years ago we became aware that Thanos had located the Sceptre again, and was using it to attempt to infiltrate Asgard and steal the Tesseract. We managed to purge his influence and protect our realms from his reach, but not in time to keep the Tesseract out of his hands.” Frigga explained succinctly. Saying just that much woke the old sorrow and fear, and she knew that trying to explain any more would break her composure in ways a Queen should never, ever break in front of anyone, but especially not foreign dignitaries.

Darcy was silent for a moment, perhaps out of respect for Frigga’s unsteady emotions. “Look, the reason I came here is because we knew Thanos was exiled from here, and he’s… hitting us pretty hard. He assassinated the Lord-Navarch of Aegis and he kidnapped my brother and the daughter of the current Lord-Navarch, probably to hold them to ransom against Ferronia and Aegis, and we need help.” She stated.

“I can show you some of the wards we used to protect ourselves against the Sceptre and the Tesseract both.” Frigga offered, smiling sadly. “But if you were hoping for more involved assistance, you’ll have to speak with my husband.”

“Thank you, that’s definitely a good start.” Darcy agreed, polite but firm, and Frigga’s smile became a little more genuinely amused. “As for speaking with Odin, he’s been very expertly ducking my every attempt to arrange a quiet chat. Although…” Darcy trailed off, an idea lighting up her eyes. “If Thanos really can’t get his mind-slaves into Asgard, then there’s hardly any need for so much secrecy.”

“Better safe than sorry, however.” Frigga advised.

“Usually, I’d agree with you.” Darcy acknowledged. “But if I can’t get him alone, I’m going to have to just up and slap it in his face somewhere where he can’t just fob me off because it’ll make our spectators mutter.”

Frigga laughed. “As a last resort, that could work, but might I offer an alternative, after many years of getting to know my husband’s foibles?” She suggested, and Darcy nodded, bright-eyed and attentive. It made Frigga a little wistful for the days when her own children were this age, old enough to have their own lives, but still young enough to be constantly searching out their mother’s wisdom. “Have your companion, the High Duke, speak to Odin.”

“Oh.” Darcy said, voice hard and deeply unimpressed. “This rubbish again.”

“I’m afraid so.” Frigga concurred.

“Does it mean absolutely nothing to him that I’m _Crown_ Princess?” Darcy demanded irritably.

Frigga sighed again, weary but still a little reluctantly fond. “I don’t believe he has taken any time at all to consider it, or what it means about your culture, or you as a person. He is intellectually aware that you are your father’s heir, but he’s much happier to assume it’s a ploy for some reason, and you are not expected to wield the full power of the crown if and when you inherit it.” She explained tiredly.

“That’s such bullshit. How do you _live_ with that?” Darcy wondered.

Frigga stiffened slightly, and Darcy must have noticed, because she winced belatedly, but didn’t actually retract her question. “I have always preferred to wield my considerable power from the shadows, subtly and without any notice or glory. Odin is aware, to some degree, of the power I hold, and he respects me for it as he should, but of the two of us, he holds the greater strength and power, and that is simply the way of things.” She stated blandly.

Darcy quirked an eyebrow, incredulity disappearing behind amused understanding. “Ah, I think I understand now, Your Imperial Majesty.” She said with playful formality, curtsying without the usual flair or depth, simply to accentuate her point.

She was smarter than she let herself appear, Frigga decided with a shrewd new appreciation of Darcy’s apparent conversational clumsiness before. “I’m glad we understand each other.” Frigga agreed regally. “Now, shall we return inside and have your man talk to mine?” She suggested.

“Oh, I only wish he were mine.” Darcy sighed dramatically. “But yes.” She agreed, linking her arm with Frigga’s again as they rejoined Jane on the edge of the gardens.

“Is he not?” Frigga asked, not truly surprised, but a little sceptical. Jane fell into step behind the discretely, not disturbing the flow of conversation at all. “Is he not fond you, then? Because I find that very hard to believe.” She mused, and was pleased to see that Darcy was not so jaded that the compliment slid off her, but struck home and made her smile.

“Well, I’m pretty sure he _is_. He’s never said, exactly, but sometimes I catch him looking at me like he wants me. He’s just, you know, got some issues that make him think he needs to keep the whole world at arms length, and that includes me, and- um, other interested parties.” Darcy explained.

“His ‘valet’, perhaps?” Frigga questioned teasingly.

Darcy did a double-take at that, and stared at Frigga with wide eyes as she readjusted her opinions on just how observant Frigga was. “Is that some sort of taboo, here?” She asked carefully, much more cautious now that someone she cared about might be at risk, as opposed to only herself being in social or political peril.

“A little, but nothing I could do anything about, your High Duke not being under Asgardian jurisdiction.” Frigga acknowledged. “However, I’m pretty sure political leaders marrying those set to inherit other positions of authority is a taboo anywhere in the world. Although I get the impression your High Duke’s ‘valet’ may be retired now, after this recent attempt on his life?” She mused, eyes twinkling with the sort of mischief her youngest son had inherited from her.

Darcy halted them only a few steps from the doors back into the hall, her jaw slack with shock. It was her handmaid who spoke, her tone inappropriately sharp in her own alarm. “How did you know that?”

“You didn’t really expect a mother to forget _any_ detail of her youngest son’s wedding, did you?” Frigga prompted them mildly, giving both servant and High Princess a rather archly unimpressed look. But after a moment, she eased into a friendlier expression. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to endanger him by revealing his previous status. I understand why he’d rather remain unnoticed, for the most part.” She assured them. “Now, you need to go speak to your men.”

It was a clear, yet polite, dismissal, and Darcy took it, still eyeing Frigga like she was caught between feeling sheepish at underestimating her, and wary at just how much she had done so. Frigga watched her go, smiling benignly, until she disappeared into the crowds with Jane at her heels, and then Frigga went looking for her own man. She found Odin deep in discussion with some of the more decorated warriors, clapping shoulders and praising victories; keeping his people happy. She slid up next to him and slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow, not intruding on the conversation, but listening all the same. Odin acknowledged her with a warm smile and a hand over hers, and continued on stroking his warriors’ egos.

It wasn’t long before she saw Bruce approaching through the crowd. She caught his eye, and he offered her another of those tight little smiles that didn’t reach his eyes at all. Over his shoulder, she caught the eye of his so-called valet, who merely met her gaze without expression, though he was somehow still managing to radiate deep scepticism and a general unimpressed disdain. Bruce seemed to want to hover on the edge of the conversation, uncomfortable and nervous, but ex-Lord-Navarch Fury nudged him forwards discretely, and Odin was finally forced to acknowledge that he was there.

“High Duke Banner, are you enjoying the feast?” Odin asked politely.

Equally politely, Bruce said nothing about his general discomfort. “Yes, very much. The food is exquisite.” He complimented.

“That it is!” One of the warriors, Guardian Tyr, a favoured advisor of Odin’s, agreed enthusiastically. “And there is much talent being shown in the bouts, as well. Have you fought with anyone this evening, Your Grace?” He asked, grinning and eager. Frigga barely hid her wince.

Bruce was not so successful at hiding his flinch. “ _No_.” He said, with just enough force that it surprised everyone around him. “And I’m not going to, thank you.” He added, as if sensing that he’d been to brusque.

“Not even a little arm-wrestling? Just a friendly competition to help burn off all that excellent food!” Tyr cajoled.

“Tyr, enough.” Frigga interrupted gently, but with the complete expectation that she would be obeyed. Tyr looked at her in surprise at her intervention, though he made no move to continue harassing Bruce. “He has the battle-sickness. Show him your respect, please.” She elaborated, and understanding and remorse dawned in Tyr’s eyes.

“Of course.” Tyr assured her, then turned to bow deeply to Bruce. “My apologies, Your Grace.”

Bruce looked slightly taken aback, but relieved all the same, and he cast Frigga grateful look as he accepted Tyr’s apology. “Don’t worry about it. Um, I have to ask, though, what is battle-sickness, exactly?” He asked.

“You do not know of it in Ferronia?” Odin asked, deceptively mild, and Frigga could tell he was tallying up another point in the list of reasons he didn’t like Ferronia.

“We might have a different name for it, but I’ve never heard of ‘battle-sickness’ before.” Bruce replied, equally mild and hiding what Frigga suspected was censure and a hint of defensive pride for his home.

“It is an illness seen in those warriors that… do not fully leave the battlefield after the fighting is done. Some part of their soul has already left this realm for the eternal war.” Tyr explained solemnly. “That part of them still left on this earth can often feel as though they are still at war, even in the most benign of settings, and the eternal war intrudes upon their mind, sleeping and waking alike, disrupting their concentration and preventing them from fighting at their full in this realm.”

Bruce made a slightly choked sound, then started laughing, soft and helpless. One hand leapt to his mouth in a failed attempt to stifle his mirth. Odin scowled at him, looking offended, but Frigga found herself concerned by the slightly hysterical edge to Bruce’s laughter. “I’m sorry.” Bruce got out, coughing and forcing the mirth down again. “Sorry, that’s just… _so_ accurate.” He admitted, pained and amused in equal measure.

“So you _don’t_ have a concept of battle-sickness in Ferronia?” Odin wanted to know.

Bruce shook his head. “Not really, although they do have a similar diagnosis in Aegis. It’s called combat fatigue there, and it’s slightly different in concept and effect, but still similar. And those disabled by it get just as much respect and treatment as those with, uh, more physical injuries.” He explained.

“Combat fatigue is a much more short-term affliction than Bruce’s condition, though.” The ex-Lord-Navarch interjected. “Those diagnosed with it are expected to return to active duty eventually.”

Odin gave the man a deeply withering look for his apparent speaking out of turn. Ex-Lord-Navarch Fury met his stare for a moment, visibly exasperated, then lowered his eyes in deference, even though it looked like it cost him to do so. Odin drew himself up, looking at Bruce with new respect. “Well, rest assured that you will be treated with the deference and respect you deserve during your stay in Asgard.” He announced solemnly.

Bruce concealed his indignation at the insinuation he wasn’t treated properly in Ferronia well, but Frigga still saw it before he composed himself. “Thank you for your hospitality.” He responded graciously, and Odin smiled. “On the subject of our stay, do you think we could discuss the reason we made the journey somewhere a little quieter?” He requested.

“Of course.” Odin acquiesced, bidding farewell to Tyr and the other warriors swiftly.

Instead of following right away, Frigga lingered a little longer, assuring herself that everyone was content and there wasn’t any discord that needed her attention. Only then did she join Odin and Bruce in the Council’s Library, a small room – at least, small for Asgard, but it was still larger than most of the rooms Frigga had seen in Ferronia – not too far from the Great Hall. It was lined on all four walls with wooden cubby holes, each holding small piles of scrolls, and there was a large table in the center of the room, at which both men were sat, taking up only the one corner. The ex-Lord-Navarch hovered discretely at Bruce’s shoulder, nearly invisible in the soft mage-light that lit the library with how still he was holding himself. If Frigga hadn’t known better, she might have thought him a statue rather than a person of flesh and blood.

She came in just in time to hear the tail end of the same explanation Darcy had given her in the garden. “-so you see, this threat we’re facing has it’s origins in Asgard, and we were hoping that you would assist us-”

“No.” Odin snapped, harsh and final.

Frigga stilled in surprise. Bruce actually leaned back in his shock. “I’m sorry, are you refusing to aid us against a threat that was of _your_ making?” Bruce shot back, sharp and oddly brittle.

“Whatever fight Thanos has with Ferronia is none of our business, and it was not _Asgard_ that brought him down on you. We have no martial alliance, merely trade and a pact of non-aggression.” Odin stated, with all the gravity as befit a man of his station. He smiled with absolutely no warmth at all. “You have my word that Asgard will not aid Thanos, nor take advantage of your difficulties, but this war is _your war_ , and it will remain as such.”

“The only reason Thanos is _our_ problem now, is because _you_ couldn’t deal with him when he was _your_ problem.” Bruce countered, the one hand that Frigga could see clenching into a white-knuckled fist on the surface of the table.

“Have care how you speak to me in my own hall, boy.” Odin growled.

“Dear…” Frigga began, rounding the table and reaching out to her husband, attempting to sooth his temper before he said something he’d regret later. As she reached the far side of the table, she got a better look at Bruce’s face, and saw that it was pinched with anger, and his eyes were flashing dangerously. Odin held his hand up, and Frigga stopped, still several paces away from his side, and her words stalled on her tongue.

“The point stands. Your negligence has put _innocent people_ in danger.” Bruce insisted through gritted teeth.

“They are not _my_ people.” Odin replied, his anger ice cold to match Bruce’s hot rage.

Bruce swallowed hard, audibly measuring his breaths. “And it does not concern you in the slightest that Thanos’s strategy so far has been the _assassination_ of the leaders in his way, when your youngest son is currently the King of Ferronia?” He wanted to know, and Frigga’s breath caught a little with a sudden spike of fear. She had known – of course she had known. She was many things, but an idiot wasn’t one of them – that Loki was in danger, but to have it spelled out for her so bluntly was very different from being vaguely aware of the possibility.

“Loki can take care of himself.” Odin declared sagely.

“Odin!” Frigga breathed out in protest.

Odin rose to his feet, turning to face her with his jaw set and his eyes hard. Bruce cut him off before they could start a marital spat in front of a guest, which Frigga was sure she’d be grateful for when she wasn’t feeling quite so betrayed. “And the fact that Thanos has _already_ taken Loki’s _step-son_ as leverage against him? That doesn’t concern you at all?” Bruce grated out, his voice taking on an odd, gravely quality in his mounting anger.

“It is not Asgard’s problem.” Odin repeated. Bruce actually growled in response.

The ex-Lord-Navarch stepped forwards, startling Frigga as he put himself between Odin and Bruce and dropped to one knee in front of the man Frigga had been sure, until that moment, was only _pretending_ to be his liege lord. “Your Grace. Bruce.” He said, careful and deliberate, not reaching out, though Frigga saw his hands twitching with the desire to.

Bruce took one slow, deep, steadying breath, then nodded sharply. Both men rose to their feet in unison, and bowed to Odin. Unlike ex-Lord-Navarch Fury, Bruce’s bow was shallow and jerky, anger still clearly ruling his gestures if not his words. “Again, I thank you for your generous hospitality.” He said, sharp but not openly hostile. Then he was discretely chivvied from the room by his – possibly _truly_ his – valet.

It wasn’t until the door had swung ponderously shut behind them that Frigga rounded on her husband. “You cannot truly be considering leaving _our son_ and his family to fend for themselves against that _monster_!” She snapped.

“As he has made _crystal_ clear on numerous occasions, Loki no longer wishes to be considered our son!” Odin retorted.

Frigga laughed incredulous, scorn bleeding through around the edges. “Only because you barely ever treated him as such anyway!” She exclaimed, then immediately wished she could take the words back when Odin flinched. Not only did it pain her to have hurt him so, but she knew that any pain she inflicted now would only fuel his stubborn, prideful determination to hold to the course he had already decided on.

“All the more reason to let him free of what little bonds still tie him to us.” Odin declared.

Frigga closed her eyes. “You do not believe it could ever be that easy.” She said, calm and tired like storm clouds with no rain left to them. “You may have given up on him, but I will _always_ be mother to Loki, just as I am mother to Thor, and wife to Odin, and Empress to the rest of Asgard and her realms. I cannot be any other way.”

Odin lifted a hand to massage at his brow. Whatever emotion he was trying to sooth into rationality, he failed, and said hand flashed out in an angry gesture. “And you will suffer only scorn for your efforts on his behalf. He would not _want_ our aid, and I would not _impose_ where we are not _welcome_.” He spat. With an inarticulate sound of frustration, Frigga turned away. Odin went on, louder now with his anger and increased desire to hold her attention. “The blame for the rift between us does not lie on _my_ shoulders. _He_ is the one who played _games_ with the Empire, like a boy with a box of tin soldiers and towers made out of wooden blocks. It was _his_ will that saw the Tesseract in the hands of Thanos-”

“Are you _still_ holding against him the actions he took after _your_ ill-conceived plots to usurp a ruler _you yourself_ had blessed?! After you _used him_ like a _pawn_ , instead of treating him as a _son_ as he was _always supposed to be_.” Frigga interrupted, turning back to face him, unable to hold herself back any longer. Her voice was steel, but her eyes were wet, and she did not bother to wipe the tears away.

“ _But he is not!_ ” Odin roared.

Frigga found she had no response to that. That had always been the one problem she had no convincing argument for. She could talk until she was blue in the face about all the ways in which Loki was more their son than not – that they had raised him for all of his life, that he had Odin’s shrewd wiles, and Frigga’s understated wisdom – but Odin couldn’t see past the blood in Loki’s veins, which was not his. “You will not sway from your course, will you?” She asked, the words feeling like a weight in the air as she spoke them, leaving her exhausted under the burden.

“I will not.” Odin confirmed.

“Know, Odin Borson, that I may never forgive you for this.” Frigga informed him, soft and pained, but with immovable finality. Odin’s eye went wide in shock and outrage. “You gave me two beautiful sons whom I loved and cherished with all my heart, and for you to allow your stubborn pride to endanger either one of them, your blood or not, is a transgression I had not believed you capable of.” She drew herself up and met his gaze steadily. “I married a better man than this.” She concluded, then swept from the room with all the dignity she could muster. It took everything she had to keep her spine straight and her expression clear until she was safely behind the closed doors of her suite, and only then did she allow herself to cry.

* * *

The following day found Darcy pacing a rut in the floor of Bruce’s suite, frustration rendering it impossible for her to sit still. Bruce watched her from his place hovering over Nick, who was seated in the armchair in front of the unlit fireplace. Nick still wasn’t fully recovered, and being on his feet all evening had worn on him, so Bruce had insisted he stay seated as much as possible today. “We knew he wasn’t likely to agree.” Nick reminded her.

“I know! But I’m still mad.” Darcy protested.

Without a word, Bruce tentatively stepped forwards, into the path of Darcy’s relentless pacing, forcing her to either stop in front of him or change her course. Because he wasn’t the one she was upset with, she reluctantly drew to a stop and pouted at him. Still moving carefully, as though waiting to be brushed off, Bruce reached out and put a hand on her arm, light and comforting. Darcy sagged, smiling despite herself, and Bruce smiled back, wry and apologetic and a little bit mischievous. “Instead of dwelling on it, maybe we should figure out our next move?” He suggested mildly.

“Go home and bitch about Odin?” Darcy suggested mockingly.

“I think it would be a little too rude to just up and leave the day after we arrived.” Nick pointed out dryly. “Not that it doesn’t sound nice.” He added, which made Darcy snicker, especially when Bruce made a small rumbly noise of agreement.

“Frigga might still be willing to help us.” Bruce suggested tentatively. “She didn’t seem very happy with Odin when I was talking to him yesterday.”

Darcy hummed thoughtfully. “We might be able to talk Thor into helping us, too. If he has his own command, or something, we could convince him to bring it to Ferronia. Not that Odin would _let_ him…” She grumbled.

“And subtlety is not his strong suit.” Nick agreed.

“I’m not entirely sure that would be a good idea, anyway.” Bruce cautioned, grimacing at them. “We don’t know what the state of things in Ferronia will be by the time we head back, but at least right now, even if you pretend it’s an honour guard, bringing in enough troops from Asgard to make a difference is never going to be very subtle. If Tony still wants to keep things behind-the-scenes, that would be a good way to ruin it.”

“Probably.” Darcy sighed, her idle dreams of returning home with a golden army at her heels dashed. The disappointment didn’t linger long, though, when a nicer idea occurred to her. “In the meantime, we should probably snoop while we have the chance, right?” Darcy suggested, looking a little too gleeful at the prospect.

Bruce closed his eyes in weary resignation, but he couldn’t quite keep the smile off his face, either, while Nick actually grinned at her. “You know I’m never against snooping.” He stated approvingly.

“You deserve each other.” Bruce declared, laughing softly.

A pang went through Darcy at the exclusion Bruce was subjecting himself to, and she opened her mouth to offer a correction, when Nick caught her eye and shook his head minutely. Darcy scowled at him, lips pressed into a thin line of frustration, because this wasn’t something she was willing to let go. Evidently, Nick got the message, because he rolled his eyes at her, but relented. “I’m quite sure what I deserve is a lot worse than being loved by someone Darcy, but I’ll take what I can get, anyway, since she’s offering.” He mused with the hint of a smile dancing on his lips.

Darcy had to admit that was a lot better than what she would have come up with, and she grinned as Bruce blinked, frowned, and then paused. His frown deepened. “What are you trying to say, Nick?” He asked slowly, uncertainly.

Before Nick could say a word, there was a light knock at the door, which then opened before any one of them could answer it. Jane stepped in, looking flustered, with Thor on her heels. Upon sensing the atmosphere of the room, Jane stopped in her tracks suddenly enough that Thor nearly crashed into her, and steadied himself by placing his hands on her shoulders. Darcy saw Jane’s eyes widen almost comically at the touch. “Are we, um, interrupting something?” Jane asked.

“Not really, just discussing our plans for the day.” Nick half-lied with practiced ease.

“Ah, then we have excellent timing!” Thor exclaimed brightly. “My mother suggested you might like a tour of the vaults. We have many magical marvels there, and I know Ferronia is a country that appreciates great magic.”

At that, Jane seemed to forget everything else, up to and including the fact that Thor’s hands still hadn’t left her shoulders. “We ran into each other on the way up and Thor was telling me about some of the things they have. It sounds amazing.” She enthused.

“The Empress suggested that, did she?” Nick wondered, framing it like a polite inquiry, but Darcy could hear the slight edge that meant there was more to what he was saying than just the obvious.

“She did. You have made a most favourable impression on her.” Thor informed him.

“That was very kind of her. We’d love to.” Bruce agreed, after a quick questioning glance at Darcy, who nodded immediately. She wasn’t an idiot, she knew there must be an ulterior motive for this tour than just seeing the sights of Asgard, and she wasn’t going to pass up an opportunity to snoop when it was presented to her on a silver platter like this.

“Excellent!” Thor lifted his hands to clap them together in eagerness. “Shall we? Or do you need a moment to prepare?”

After seeing both of her men – Darcy was allowed to think of them like that in the privacy of her own mind, even if it was only half true – shake their heads, she turned a bright grin on Thor. “We’re good to go.” She declared.

Beaming, Thor led the four of them down through the palace, answering all of their questions about Asgard and his life cheerfully and returning with sincerely curious questions of his own. Darcy did not miss the fact that just about half of them were directed at Jane, and even when they weren’t, Thor kept stealing glances at her like he couldn’t quite believe she was real, but didn’t want to question it in case he was right and she disappeared. She was also pretty sure that Jane _had_ missed it, as caught up as she was in quizzing him on Asgardian magic.

The vaults themselves turned out to be spectacular, even to Darcy who had very little interest in magic save how useful it could be. Where Bruce and Jane poured over the various carvings and penmanship – some tiny and so fine they looked like spider-webs, some large enough to cover entire walls of the chambers they were wandering through – she was mostly interested in the effects and the history of each object. Thor was happy to recount numerous tales of heroics and valour, in which one or more of the enchanted objects featured.

It was startlingly maze-like down in the vaults, which were located underground, a warren of a basement, well lit by witchlight and live flame alike, but disorienting to travel through all the same. Darcy spent some time trying to figure out how she had gotten so thoroughly turned around that, without Thor, she doubted she would ever have found her way out again, but gave up when no answer presented itself and started thinking about _why_ Odin – or his forefathers – had wanted such a confusing layout to their glorified gallery.

The answer was revealed when Thor showed them into yet another chamber, and Darcy was immediately confronted with a entire hall that glowed with orange-gold spells, so fine and intricate she was forced to lean so close to the wall her nose was touching it before she could pick out the individual lines. Jane made an inappropriate sound and all but flung herself at the walls, tracing certain angles with her fingertips, her eyes alight with feverish glee. Bruce wasn’t entirely immune, either, hastily pulling his glasses out of his pocket and crouching down to examine the spellwork scrolling across the floor.

“This is the heart of Asgard.” Thor said proudly, gesturing around the room. “It keeps her safe and well, shielding her from attack both magical and mundane. There is a chamber like this below every capital city in the empire, and anchor sigils in every noble house across all the realms.” He explained.

“This is _incredible_.” Jane breathed. “I’ve never seen anything like it outside of _storybooks_ , how on earth did anyone come up with this- _Oh_ , that’s genius. Do you see, here where they’ve interwoven a triple helix with-” Darcy tuned her out after that, because she knew from experience that when Jane really got going, her jargon got nearly indecipherable to the uninitiated, and Darcy didn’t have the patience to try and keep up.

“Mother said you would appreciate this room best.” Thor informed them, staring at Jane the way Jane was staring at the spellwork on the walls.

“She’s clearly got the measure of us, then.” Nick remarked, mild enough that it caught Darcy’s attention and she looked over at him. He was examining the walls with a sharp, narrow-eyed look that was equal parts intense curiosity and clinical appraisal.

It was only then that Darcy remembered Frigga’s promise to show her the magic keeping Thanos out of Asgard, and her own eyes widened. She looked around the room again, taking in the sheer amount of it all, not to mention the complexity, and felt daunted. There was no way Ferronia could copy all of this without continued access and possibly several Asgardian experts to debate theory with. Never mind that finding space for it where it wouldn’t interfere with JARVIS would be a challenge.

Still it wouldn’t do any harm to let Bruce and Jane have some time to study it while they could. Perhaps, once they were home, the two of them, and Tony and Loki could figure out something just as good, or possibly even better. In order to give them that time, Darcy entertained herself by starting increasingly bizarre conversations with Nick, while Thor watched on with growing amusement.

They stayed down there for what felt like hours, but probably wasn’t quite that long, until Thor suggested they return to the palace proper for lunch. Bruce agreed with good humour, even if he did look a little wistful at the idea of leaving, but Darcy had to physically pry Jane away from her work and drag her out of the door. This resulted in a very loud argument about the necessity of things like food over magical innovations that had all the guards they passed once they left the vaults giving them deeply baffled looks.

When Thor started laughing at them, Jane went pink and stopped arguing abruptly, too flustered to remember what she’d been about to say next. “Fear not, Jane. Should you wish to spend more time in the chamber, I can bring you back another time.” He offered cheerfully.

“That would be amazing.” Jane breathed eagerly.

“Then I shall endeavour to do so at the earliest opportunity.” Thor replied, and it was such a far cry from the indifference he’d treated her with yesterday that Darcy’s eyebrows rose in baffled amusement at the scene playing out in front of her. “You need but ask, and I shall escort you through the vault whenever you wish.” He added.

“So long as you still remember to eat at regular intervals. And no, once every forty-eight hours doesn’t count!” Darcy interjected quickly, before Jane could use Thor’s invitation as an excuse to all but starve herself in the name of magic.

“You sound like Pepper.” Bruce remarked, grinning lopsidedly.

“Well, I did learn how to wrangle mages from her.” Darcy accepted. “She is very good at it. I mean she’d have to be, to put up with Dad for almost ten-”

A sudden, deep, booming toll of a bell interrupted their banter. All five of them came to an abrupt stop, and Darcy glanced at the others to see them all looking as alarmed and confused as she did, but none so much as Thor. “Enemies have breached Asgard walls.” Thor announced for their benefit, his shock swiftly transmuting into bloodlust. He glanced at them, assessing them, then beckoned two of the guards standing watch in the corridor. “Take the High Princess and the High Duke back to their chambers and stand guard outside. Do not permit anyone but the royal family inside.” He ordered.

“Hey, wait a minute-!” Darcy protested, but Thor was already striding away. He unhooked his war hammer from his belt as he went, the spellwork etched into it spitting sparks as he hefted it in his hand. “We can-” Darcy tried again, but then Thor rounded a corner and was out of sight. “-help.” Darcy finished irritably.

“Uh, Your Highness?” One of the golden-clad guards Thor had assigned to them called to get her attention. “It will be safer in your chambers, as His Imperial Highness said, so-” He began, but Darcy interrupted him before he could try to tell her what to do.

“No. We’re not going to hide away in our rooms. You-” She began in tones fit for a future High Queen, poking the guard who had spoken in the chest. He leaned back from her in alarm, before training and dignity forced him to straighten his spine and wait for orders. “-are going to take me and Nick to the battlements where we can help man whatever catapults or ballistae you have. You-” She rounded on the guards companion. “-are going to take Jane and Bruce to wherever any injured fighters are going to be brought so they can help patch them up. Understood?”

“But, Your Highness, the Imperator ordered us to-” The second guard protested.

“Fine, we can find the way ourselves.” Darcy snapped. She turned to look at Nick, who nodded to her and turned on his heel to head in the direction Thor had gone. Darcy followed, pausing only to glance back at Jane and Bruce, who offered her reassuring smiles that were only moderately sincere.

“Be careful.” Bruce pleaded, gaze holding hers until he flicked his eyes across to Nick’s back, and then returned them to her. “Both of you.” Worry had etched lines between his brows, and on impulse, Darcy hugged him tightly before she went.

“We will, I promise.” She murmured in his ear. She felt like she was lighting up inside when Bruce hugged her back, tight and a little desperate. It was a short hug, brief because they knew time was of the essence, but it still ignited something in Darcy such that when he let her go, her smile was fierce and much more genuine than his. “Go save lives.” She encouraged proudly, then turned to dart after Nick.

She caught up with him only a few moments before the guard she had intimidated caught up with the both of them, looking resigned. The next time they came to a junction, the guard took the lead, guiding them through hallways that became progressively more bustling the further they went. Most of the people they passed were more of the gold-clad soldiers, but Darcy also saw several young teens darting between legs, delivering messages, and one or two women in neat, practical dresses that were already carting injured soldiers to the infirmary.

Then they crossed a courtyard, then two, and then they were heading up and up and up in dizzying spirals until they came out into sunlight at the top of a tower that was connected to more towers like it by a series of narrow bridges along which golden warriors scurried, sometimes toting ammunition, sometimes bearing orders or reports. Each tower had three massive ballistae that were raining massive barb-tipped bolts down into the streets of Asgard below, where Darcy could now see white-haired, black-clad raiders swarming like a tide towards the palace.

Their tower, however had only two ballistae, either side of an even larger telescope system. At the telescope was a man in silver and black armour, rather than the standard gold, who kept barking out orders at regular intervals. “Guardian Tyr, sir.” The guard interrupted, earning him an irritated look, before he caught sight of Darcy and Nick, and his eyes widened in shock.

“What are they doing up here, einherjar?” He demanded of the soldier, who winced at the sharp tone of reprimand. “Take them somewhere safe, immediately!” He ordered.

“We’re here to help.” Darcy insisted, starting to run out of patience. “I’m not going to sit around doing nothing while everyone’s in danger, so give me something useful to do, instead of having a go at your soldier for doing what he’s told.”

Tyr looked thoroughly taken aback, but adjusted quickly. When he next spoke, his tone was respectful and patient, if slightly clipped. “Your Highness, this is no place for lady. You should-”

“Did you not hear me?” Darcy demanded, setting her jaw stubbornly. “I don’t care if you or your Emperor or your _Gods_ don’t think this is my place! I’m _here_. I am able-bodied. And I am willing to help. So _let me_!” She yelled.

Tyr looked mildly irritated by her outburst, but didn’t seem to be willing to fight any harder against the idea. He made a vague gesture of concession, and Darcy sucked in a fortifying breath to compose herself now that she had what she wanted. “If this gets you killed, it’d better not start a war with Ferronia.” He informed her irritably, then he sized both her and Nick up with a critical eye “You can start by going to fetch more bolts from the storerooms,” he instructed Darcy, pointing directly downwards, before turning to Nick, “and you. Do you know how to man a ballista?”

As Darcy turned and left, she heard Nick give a brisk, succinct, “Yes,” and he was presumably set to work on one of the teams operating the giant machines. Darcy didn’t linger to watch. On her way back down the stairs, she hitched her skirts up and tied them in a knot so that she could keep her hands free for carrying things on her way back up. It wasn’t very elegant, but that was hardly her first concern in the middle of a battle.

Darcy spent the next several hours running back and forth from one place to another, delivering messages, fetching ammunition, helping nurses carry the wounded, bringing food and water to the men manning the ballistae. Through snatches of conversation and bits of overheard gossip, she managed to put together a sketchy picture of what was going on. One of the realms Asgard had conquered – the first, rumour had it – was attacking. They were good fighters – worthy adversaries was the phrase the soldier had actually used – but no one had thought they had the strength of numbers to take Asgard, nor the skill in stealth to get right to the city walls before being detected. Asgard had thought that the svartalfr had been left martially crippled after Asgard had invaded, a good little territory for so long people had completely stopped thinking of them as any sort of threat.

She saw Jane, at one point, and helped her carry a soldier with a nasty gut wound into the infirmary. Darcy made crude observations and cracked bad jokes and even got a pained laugh out of their burden before she was whisked away from Jane to help restock the infirmary. She was elbows deep in washing and boiling bloody bandages when she caught a glimpse of Bruce. His arms and shirt were bloody, and his face was drawn tight, but there was a light in his eyes Darcy didn’t often see. She thought it was most probably satisfaction at putting things back together instead of tearing them apart.

He caught her eye for a moment, and relief cleared away a little of the pinched look around his eyes. He shot her a smile, and Darcy grinned back, gave a little wave, and then he was gone, back to work. Honestly, those few stolen moments with her friends made Darcy feel better too, knowing they were okay was reassuring in a way she hadn’t even considered, so the moment she was free of bandage-cleaning duty, she took herself back to the towers and used dinner as an excuse to go and find Nick.

He was – not surprisingly – right where she’d left him. It wasn’t until Darcy was already handing out food to the other soldiers that she noticed the state he was in. He was holding himself stiff, and every movement made him wince slightly. “Oh my gods, _sit down_!” She burst out, shoving the tray she’d been carrying at the nearest soldier and striding over to Nick to forcibly drag him away from the ballista if she needed to.

“Darcy.” Nick acknowledged, and made no move to stop helping wind the winch on the ballista.

“For the gods’ sake, Nick! You’re worse than Bruce! At least he _tries_ to take care of himself.” Darcy complained. She looked around, spotted a soldier who was taking a break against a wall with a flask of water. “You! Come here and take over! Didn’t any of you notice he’s _injured_?!” She demanded, in such a fierce voice that the young man leapt to obey and everyone around her looked abashed, despite not being aware she was anything more than a serving girl.

“This is nothing, Darcy.” Nick informed her, but this time he allowed himself to be led away from the fight and have a chunk of roasted meat and bread and cheese on a plate shoved into his hands. “I’ve had much, much worse than a few aches and pains.” He pointed out, before starting to wolf down the food.

“I don’t _care_!” Darcy snapped. She caught herself before she started yelling for real, because this was not the time or place to make a scene. Nick frowned at her, confused by the intensity of her distress. “…I need to know I can trust you to take care of yourself, Nick. I can’t- The only reason I can get on with this is because I know – or I _thought_ I knew – that the rest of you would be taking care of yourselves as best you can.”

To her utter surprise, this actually got Nick to look ever so slightly contrite. “I promise you, I won’t let _this_ be the thing that kills me.” He offered in lieu of an apology, and Darcy decided it would have to do.

Nodding, she ran a hand through her hair distractedly, then huffed out a breath. “So, how do things look from up here?” She asked.

Nick frowned deeply and cast a glance over the wall facing onto the city, where the sounds of battle could still be heard. “Something’s not right about this.” He said, audibly frustrated. “I’m missing something. These guys shouldn’t _have_ a military, from what I’ve been hearing, so where did these troops even come from?”

“I heard the same thing.” Darcy agreed.

“No one here gave me any indication that there was civil unrest in Asgard. So why, even if they _were_ somehow building a secret army, attack _now_?” Nick went on, the only acknowledgement that Darcy had spoken being a half-second glance in her direction.

“You think maybe it’s got something to do with us?” Darcy wondered, not as surprised as she thought she should have been. “Or Thanos.”

“Bit of a coincidence, otherwise.” Nick muttered, still glaring in the direction of the fight. “What are they even trying to _do_? They stopped pushing towards the palace an hour ago, but they’re not retreating, they’re not trying to dig themselves in, they’re just… fighting.”

Darcy peered over the parapet, and looked out over the section of the city she could see from here. It was hard to see from as high up as they were, but movement automatically drew her eye. The problem was there was so much movement it was hard to focus on any one area. She wasn’t an expert, either, and she was pretty sure all battlefields looked like bloody chaos, but she thought she could maybe see what Nick was talking about. The svartalfr were scattered, drawing the usually organised Asgardian troops out into one-on-one skirmishes.

“Do you think maybe the chaos is the point?” Darcy wondered. “What if what they _want_ is a big fight?” She suggested, glancing over her shoulder at Nick.

Nick stared at her, quietly stunned. For a moment, Darcy wondered if she’d said something really stupid, but then Nick started swearing. “ _Fuck_. It’s a _distraction_.” He breathed, starting to haul himself up, half-eaten plate of food discarded.

“A distraction for what?” Darcy pressed, returning to his side and tucking herself under his arm so that he could lean on her discretely without sacrificing speed. He glanced at her gratefully, but then he needed to turn his attention to the stairs they were trying to hurry down.

“I don’t know,” Nick said carefully, “but I would bet good money that if it’s not _you_ , or possibly Thor, then it’s in Odin’s weapons vault.”

Darcy swallowed hard. “So, we’re sure Thanos is behind this, then?” She asked.

“It’s the only thing that makes sense.” Nick replied grimly.

They reached the bottom of the stairs, and Darcy paused, forcing Nick to stop with her. He eyed her impatiently. “What are we planning to do, exactly?” She pressed him. “I’m pretty sure you’re smarter than just charging in recklessly, but I’d still like to know the plan.”

“Tell Odin.” Nick answered dryly.

“Ugh. That’s a better plan than no plan, but… Ugh.” Darcy bemoaned.

Nick huffed out a laugh as they set off again. “I do actually like Odin slightly more than I like Thanos. Though I know that’s only damning with faint praise.” He pointed out, startling a snicker out of Darcy. She paused to ask a passing soldier who looked relatively high-ranked where they could find Odin, and was directed to the War Council Chamber that, of course, had to be several floors up in the center of the palace complex. Darcy had just placed her foot on the bottom step of the staircase the soldier had directed them to, when a tremor shook the entire palace, and she and Nick stumbled into a wall.

“What was that?” Darcy asked breathlessly.

“Not good.” Nick answered, right before another tremor shook them.

Darcy clutched at Nick to help keep her feet. It wasn’t until the shaking stopped that Darcy noticed the faint buzzing in the air, and even then it took her a moment to realise the oddity of it, being so used to living with the sensation of magic in air all the time. “Oh, wow. Yeah, really not good.” She agreed.

“I think we might be too late.” Nick confessed with a grimace.

“Better late than never.” Darcy chirped with false cheer. “New plan: Let’s be reckless.” She suggested. Nick eyed her, and Darcy knew him well enough by now to know before he spoke what he was about to suggest. “And no, I’m not letting you go off into unknown danger without me just because they _might_ be looking to kidnap me. Deal with it.”

Nick’s ensuing sigh was laced with dark amusement, and he conceded with a nod. “Let’s go, then.”

* * *

The fact that it had taken him several long hours to notice that there was something off about the battle raging in the city was something Odin blamed on Frigga. It wasn’t that he didn’t understand that she loved Loki – it was his own fault, really, for going along with Frigga’s desire to raise Loki as a son instead of a ward – but what he didn’t understand was why she was blindly willing to subject herself to ever increasing pain as Loki disappointed her again and again. Their argument of the previous day weighed heavy on his mind, righteous anger and sick heartache flooding him in turns and distracting him from the battle he was trying to oversee.

When he finally does notice that what should have been a press for the palace gates had turned into more of a very wide-spread street brawl, a chill ran down his spine. He immediately barked out orders for several units of einherjar to withdraw back to the palace, then left command in the hands of his council and hurried as fast as his aging bones would allow him to the weapons vault. It was where he kept nearly everything of value within the palace, save the throne itself. If the fight in the city was a distraction, then there was likely already a covert force making it’s way there. If he was too late to head them off before they got whatever they were looking for, he could at least prevent them leaving.

He was almost at the vault doors when he found the first dead guard. The einherjar was tucked half out of the way in a doorway, throat slashed and eyes blank behind his helmet. He hadn’t had time to raise an alarm. The doors to the vault itself stood open, and the guards that had been posted there were dead too. Odin picked up his pace, fearing he might be too late to even stop them, but then he saw an open door up ahead and heard the clash of steel on steel.

The door led to the chamber in which he had stored all of the relics gained through conquest. The Casket of Ancient Winters sat pride of place, along with the enchanted crown he’d taken from Vanaheim and several of the Blessed Weapons from Alfheim. A suspicion began to grow in Odin’s mind as to what the svartalfr were after, one that stoked his rage to an inferno, so that when he entered the room where the fight was raging, he was more than ready to do battle.

The fight paused momentarily at his entrance, and Odin had time to notice that this team of elves consisted of a handful of their most skilled warriors, made much larger than their natural forms by twisted blood magic. It was led, to Odin’s surprise, by the King-Regent of Svartalfheim himself, Malekith. He had not expected the man to enter the fray himself, but here he was, and he was reaching for – as Odin had expected – the Aether.

Then the guards and the svartalfr both leapt into action again, the svartalfr lunging for Odin and the guards moving to protect him. “Protect the Aether!” Odin barked out, and they changed direction, leaving him to defend himself.

The first Cursed Warrior to fall to Gungnir did so quickly, when he recklessly charged Odin and got a spear through his chest pinning him to the ground for his trouble. As Gungnir’s tip drove into the floor, it released a shock of energy that blew the svartalf’s chest clean open and shook the entire palace. Coated in blood and viciously thrilled at the chance to vent his frustrations, Odin rose and spun, driving Gungnir at another foe.

An armour-clad arm blocked it’s path to the svartalf’s jugular, but the blast of energy Gungnir released shattered the metal and the bone beneath alike, sending his enemy sprawling with a sharp cry of agony. Again, Odin drove the spear into the floor through the svartalf’s chest, and again the palace shook with the blow.

When he turned again, he saw that the rest of the svartalfr were hanging back, wary and assessing now that he had proved himself far more formidable than a man his age had any right to be. The handful of guard left alive were all busy preventing Malekith from taking the Aether, and Odin prayed they could keep him occupied long enough for Odin to kill Malekith’s entourage and step in against Malekith himself. Time was of the essence, so Odin flung himself back into the fight, refusing to be distracted by things he couldn’t change. Yet.

For an indeterminate length of time, Odin fought, ignoring the burn of weary muscles and the ache of old bones through sheer determination. The fight became his world, everything he knew was in the moment of battle, until he wasn’t anymore. Suddenly, the remaining living svartalfr – of which there were now only two instead of nearly a dozen – backed off, leaving him standing in the middle of a pile of corpses, leaning heavily on his spear and breathing hard. He was wounded, but still standing, and he took a fierce sort of pride in that.

Then he saw that the reason the svartalfr had backed off was because Malekith now had the Aether in hind, wisps of red-black magic already starting to curl out around his fingers. He smiled, slow and unkind, at Odin, and raised his fist. “You lose, Emperor.” Malekith declared, softly accented and darkly malicious. On his tongue, the title sounded like the worst kind of slur.

“Not if I can kill you before you leave.” Odin growled. He steadied his feet and braced himself to fight again.

Malekith looked at him as if he couldn’t be more bored or unimpressed. “How can you kill me, when you can’t even touch me?” He wanted to know. Furious, Odin lashed out with Gungnir, but the spear didn’t get anywhere close to Malekith before he raised his fist and a wave of dark energy batted both spear and wielder aside as if they were nothing more than gnats.

Odin hit the wall hard, Gungnir slipping from his fingers, and slid to the floor with a strangled groan. He really was too old for this, he thought grimly as he tried to push past the pain and pull himself together. Wincing, he opened his eye saw Malekith standing over him, energy already building around his clenched fist. Well, maybe he wouldn’t have to worry about being old for much longer, then.

Suddenly, Malekith’s head turned sharply towards the door, and Odin used his distraction to grab Gungnir and use it to stab Malekith in the thigh. The shockwave sent the svartalf flying into the opposite wall. He recovered faster than Odin, tossing his hair out of his face with a snarl, but he was again distracted by something outside. After a moment, Odin thought he could hear distant footsteps, voices, and felt a little tension go out of him as he realised reinforcements must be on their way at last.

Malekith had evidently cottoned on too, because instead of resuming his attack against Odin he chose to flee, the Aether still clenched tight in one hand. The idea of the Aether being stolen was enough to drive Odin back to his feet, but by the time he’d staggered out into the hallway, the nits of einherjar were in chaos, and Malekith was nowhere to be seen. “My Lord!” Someone cried, as Odin stumbled into the wall, mind working furiously trying to figure out what to do next.

“Seal the city. Bar the gates. And have every house, shop, cellar and attic searched for Malekith!” Odin barked out through harsh breaths. Well trained as they were, his einherjar leapt to obey without question. Odin wasn’t sure that even that would be enough to stop Malekith leaving with the Aether, but it was the best he could do for the moment. “Send for-” He began, but he stopped when two more people appeared at the end of the corridor. The High Princess Darcy and the High Duke’s insubordinate valet, who appeared to be injured, were hurrying down the hallway towards them.

“Your Majesty!” The High Princess called. “What happened?!”

Odin narrowed his eyes at her, a suspicion growing in his mind. The longer he thought, the more he went over the events of the last few days, the less it seemed like just a suspicion. Until grim certainty was all that remained. “Arrest them.” He ordered. The High Princess’s mouth dropped open in shock, while the valet straightened his shoulders abruptly, eyes – one of them cloudy and scarred – flashing with anger. But they didn’t move to stop the einherjar from grabbing their arms and holding them still.

“ _What_?!” The High Princess yelped.

“On what grounds?” The valet demanded.

Odin glared at him. “I do not have to explain my decisions to _you_ , servant.” He snapped.

“But you do have to explain them to me.” The High Princess jumped in, fierce. “ _On what grounds_ are you arresting us?”

“Conspiracy with Asgard’s enemies. Sabotage of Asgard’s defences. Theft from the imperial house of Asgard. Unlawful conduct.” Odin rattled off, succinct with his impatience. “Take them to the palace dungeons, and arrest their companions as well, the High Duke, and the rest of their servants.” He said to the einherjar, who nodded solemnly and began escorting the High Princess and the High Duke’s valet down the hall.

“That’s _ridiculous_!” The High Princess shouted, struggling against the einherjar now, shrugging off their hands for a moment and stomping back towards Odin. She didn’t get far, but it did halt her progress down the hall long enough for her to go on shouting. “How on earth are we supposed to have helped your enemies?! Your enemies are _attacking us_!”

Odin really wanted to sit down. He was so exhausted by the fight that even his anger was too much for his body to handle. His hands, where they were white-knuckled around Gungnir’s shaft, were shaking with the potent combination of fatigue and rage. “The only reason Malekith could have known about the Aether, was if Thanos – or someone allied with Thanos – had told him.” He explained, slow and dark. “Your visit here was conveniently well timed, do you not think?” He snarled. “And all to ask us for aid against Thanos when you have already welcomed one ally of his into your house!” Odin barked out a singularly humourless laugh. “Do you think me a fool, to be so easily played by one little girl and her entourage? _No_.”

“ _Little girl_?!” The High Princess snapped. “You know what, Odin? I’ve been wanting to say this for _months_ , so-”

“What ally to Thanos?” The valet interrupted her.

She shot him a burning look and carried on as if he hadn’t spoken. “-so listen up, asshole! You’re a prejudiced, bigoted hypocrite with no sense of common decency. You’re a gods-damned tyrant, but you’ve got your people so brainwashed they all think you’re a freaking saint. Well, I’ve got news for you, jerk, because you’re _not_ , you’re small-minded and _pathetic_ , and you’re a crappy father to boot. Die in a fire.”

“What ally to Thanos?” The valet asked again, unwilling to be deterred even by the High Princess’s ire. Odin followed the High Princess’s example, and ignored him.

“Your words mean nothing to me.” Odin informed her.

“Answer the man’s fucking question, you asshole.” The High Princess spat back. “What bloody ally to Thanos?!”

Odin laughed again, derisive and cruel. “Pretending you do not know will get you nowhere.” He told her. “He may have you and your people and your father and even Frigga fooled, but I am not so naïve. He has aided Thanos before and I am not surprised he is doing so again.”

“You mean Loki.” The valet surmised.

“ _Bullshit._ ” Darcy spat out, looking highly offended. Odin decided there was no dignified way to respond to that, so simply waved his hand at the einherjar to remove the two of them from his presence. They obeyed, but as she was being led away, the High Princess called over her shoulder “You just don’t like him because he’s smarter than you and he can see what you really are. I bet that scares the shit out of you. It should.”

“You are a _child_!” Odin roared. “And know not the matters on which you speak. Guard your tongue carefully, girl; my patience with your insolence has it’s limits.”

He was expecting any number of responses, more shouted accusations, a fight, resistance, he was even prepared for fear, shock, indignation, uncertainty, or caution, although he wasn’t expecting them. What he could not have been prepared for, what he couldn’t even have begun to expect, was that the High Princess would stick her tongue out at him like the very child he accused her of being. He was still watching after her incredulously when she was dragged around a corner and out of sight.


	5. In Which There Is An Escape And A Rescue

There were a lot of things Peter had been prepared to weather, once he realised he was being kidnapped, not assassinated. He’d tried to gird himself for torture, interrogation, abuse, despite knowing that there was no real way for him to be prepared for what they might do to him in the name of breaking him. What he hadn’t been prepared for, what he hadn’t even stopped to consider, was the _boredom_.

Deadpool helped with that, of course. The man was so full of funny stories – which Peter still had no idea if they were true or not – to tell or games to play or esoteric conversation starters to prompt Peter into bizarre spirals of debate and discussion. But even with that, the fact was that Peter had spent several long, long weeks – he wasn’t sure how long exactly, had it been months, yet? – sitting in one room. Half a room, really. And it wasn’t even a nice room. It was bland rock and nothing else. There were no books, no JARVIS, no woods, no horse-rides with Darcy, no magic lab and Dad spitting out mind-bending ideas like they weren’t incredible, nothing interesting to draw, nor the tools to draw with, no kingdom to help Pepper run, no Gwen and Harry dragging him out to the river or their climbing tree or the old caves, no Loki to teach about Ferronian law and culture and politics.

It left Peter unsettled, frustrated and irritable. Skye tried to help, to engage him in conversation, but Peter couldn’t keep himself from being short with her, and she gave up trying with her own frustrated scoff. Deadpool got quieter and quieter as Peter’s mood didn’t improve, and that only upset him more. That the one interesting part of this hellish experience was being withdrawn because Peter couldn’t pull his head out of his ass made him feel like crap, adding guilt to the cocktail of negativity in Peter’s chest. Then he felt annoyed that he was feeling guilty about upsetting his _jailer_.

After three hours – he’d been counting the seconds, that’s how utterly bored he was – of pacing, Peter abruptly stopped. With a soundless snarl, he dragged his hands through his hair, then left his hands cupping the back of his neck as he just tried to breathe through the impotent rage. “I can’t do this anymore.” He announced, his voice loud and echoing after the silence.

Skye turned a deeply unimpressed look on him. “Well if you can think of a way out, genius, I’m all ears.” She shot back.

Peter stared at her blankly, half wanting to bite back a scathing reply, but too caught up in what she’d said to bother. Because… he _could_ think of a way out. Feeling like a idiot – which in no way improved his mood – Peter turned towards the bars across the middle of the room and stepped up to them. Deadpool was lying on his bed, mask lifted up to his nose so that he could shove an overly-large sandwich into his mouth while reading a book that looked older than he was. He was getting grease stains on it, and Peter could _hear_ the furious tirade Loki would let loose with if he could see this. “Deadpool?” He called.

“Yeah-huh?” Deadpool responded through a full mouth, without taking his eyes off his book.

“You’re a mercenary, right?” Peter checked, hands fisting on the bars in front of him without conscious thought, frustration turning his knuckles white with the force of his grip.

“Uh-huh…?” Deadpool agreed, drawing the sound out until it was a question.

“So how much is Thanos paying you, exactly?” Peter asked.

Deadpool looked up at him, putting his sandwich down on his bed – apparently oblivious to the shreds of meat and bits of cheese and blobs of tomato seeds that were falling out of the edges and onto the sheets – and tugging his mask back down over his mouth as he chewed thoughtfully. “Why do you want to know?” He asked. Peter noticed that his voice had lost that high, light, cheery edge it usually held that made him sound like an over-excited toddler. Right now, he sounded every inch the dangerous mercenary he really was, and it sent a small thrill down Peter’s spine. Not enough to stop him, but enough to warn him that he was treading on thin ice.

It was the only thing that stopped him sounding completely exasperated when he answered. “Because I want to know if the Royal Treasury of Ferronia can match it.”

There was no response. Deadpool just stared at him, inscrutable behind his mask and almost completely still, not a twitch to betray his thoughts. Then he sighed gustily and shook his head. “Nice try, baby boy,” his voice was light again, but not cheerful like Peter had become so used to, “but if I let myself get bribed away from a job, I’d never work again. Integrity is _vital_ in this line of work, you know. No one’s going to hire a mercenary who’d turn around and kill _them_ if the price was right.”

Peter turned away from the bars in frustration, turning his back on Deadpool and refusing to look at Skye. He paced across the length of their cell, at first in a paltry attempt to vent some of the mounting frustration in his limbs, and then slower as he forced himself to think. Deadpool was a mercenary, and he had his own code that he followed, as nonsensical as it was. Peter just needed an argument that would match that code. He stopped mid length to whirl and face Deadpool. “So don’t be a mercenary. Get us out and come work for- for Ferronia.” He offered, and had to bite back the instinctive ‘for me’ that wanted to spill out.

“Go legit? But that sounds so _boring_.” Deadpool whined.

Peter gaped at him. “No.” He contradicted, shaking his head in disbelief. “No. _This_ is boring.” He stated, gesturing at the cell. “You might have more perks than we do, but you haven’t been that stingy about sharing them, and I’m still ready to _crawl_ out of my gods-damned _skin_ just to escape. The only reason I haven’t already just blasted my way out is because I’m still about seventy-five percent sure that you’d stop me before I actually managed to get the hell out of here.”

“Of course I would!” Deadpool protested indignantly. “I am a _professional_.”

“Even if it meant you had to kill me?” Peter wanted to know.

“Nope. That’s against the rules. No un-aliving you or you’re no good for leverage any more.” Deadpool pointed out. “Minor maiming is allowed, though.”

Now there was something Peter could appeal to. “You’d be allowed to un-alive a lot of people if you helped us escape.” He pointed out, trying to keep his voice mild instead of pleading like he wanted to. Not that he relished the idea of people dying, but he wasn’t going to be unrealistic about this. People _were_ going to die, one way or another, and right now, Peter just wanted to go home before the people dying were him and Skye.

“Really?” Deadpool asked, surprised.

Peter blinked. “I wasn’t expecting you to get us out without hurting anybody at all.” He responded in tones of disbelief, because that really should have been obvious.

“But you’re all… _moral_.” Deadpool countered like it was a slimy word, gesturing at Peter.

After some deliberation, Peter found he had a response that he was actually happy with. “Well, I don’t actually _want_ people to die. But if you’re killing them in self-defence, or in defence of me and Skye, I’m not exactly going to _complain_ , now am I?”

“You might.” Deadpool muttered petulantly.

“I won’t.” Peter promised. Deadpool still didn’t seem convinced, so Peter sighed and elaborated. “Look, you’re a warrior, you make a living out of fighting and killing people, I get that. Would _I_ chose a life like that? No, absolutely not. But you’re not me, you’re you, and your choices are yours. I can respect that. Would I like to live in a world where skills like yours weren’t necessary? Well, yes, but I’m not _stupid_. They are necessary, and I might not have seen you fight much, but I did see the way you move with your swords when your practicing, and you’re, like, _so good_ -” Deadpool perked up at that compliment, beaming so wide Peter could see it through his mask. “I would have to be pretty stupid to have a go at you for using those skills to _help me_.”

“Lots of people are pretty stupid, though.” Deadpool pointed out.

“Well, _I’m_ not.” Peter shot back, then paused. “Shit, I sound like my dad.”

Skye burst out laughing. “Yeah, but you’re not wrong.” She pointed out, coming to join him at the bars and leaning her shoulder against them. “You know I don’t like you, but he’s right; you helping us escape is good for everyone.”

“You are not being half so convincing.” Deadpool accused her, pointing.

Skye rolled her eyes, but Peter started to smile. Some of the frustration weighing him down seemed to turn to light in his veins, the hope buoying him up. This time, he couldn’t fully restrain the emotional plea in his voice. “Come on, Deadpool. Get us out of here, and come work for me.” He paused and swallowed, abruptly remembering the other reason why Deadpool was working with Thanos. “I- I know that you’ve got your, uh, ‘Mistress’ person here, but…”

“Why would you even mention that, Peter? Gods!” Skye hissed in reprimand.

“- _but_ …” Peter pressed on, even though he wasn’t entirely sure what he was actually trying to say. “If- if the two of you really can’t… you know, be together, then maybe you should- should give the both of you a chance to move on? I mean, wouldn’t it be kinder, to you _and_ her, if you… could give each other some space, instead of- of pining, or…?”

Deadpool snorted with laughter, causing Peter to startle and stare at him in bewilderment. “Aw, it’s cute that you’re worried, but it’s not like that.” He corrected, shaking his head at Peter. “It’s just she’d be mad if I ruined Thanos’s plans, and I don’t like it when she’s mad at me. I might be able to appease her if I unalived a lot of people, though. She likes it when I do that. I dunno if it would count if it was Thanos’s people, but…”

Peter blinked at Deadpool, struggling to parse all of that into something that made an ounce of sense. After a minute, he gave up, and simply decided to take it at face value. “Well, you probably are going to get to kill a bunch of people. Especially if you come work for me once we’re out, because, you know, we _are_ literally just about to go to war with Thanos, so… as long as you think killing people will make up for going against him, you’ll be pretty much set. I promise.”

Deadpool hesitated, head cocked to one side in thought. “And your dad’s just going to be fine with you hiring a deadly mercenary? Who could kill you with half a thought if the price was right?” He prompted sceptically.

“Deadpool, if you get me home, Dad would give you your own personal enchanted armoury. And the castle to keep it in.” Peter informed him fondly. He could see Deadpool’s eyes going wide, and his whole body tipped forwards until he was sitting on the edge of the bed, every inch of his posture screaming eagerness and want. Peter grinned. After a moment, however, his smile softened. “And as for killing me… well, if you help us now, I’d trust you with that.”

Deadpool straightened up abruptly. “Don’t be stupid.”

“I like you, Deadpool.” Peter informed him, feeling stubborn and embarrassed. “Despite everything, you’ve been good to me – to us – and you’ve… you’ve made this more bearable than I’d ever have thought, just by- just because you’re _you_. I _want_ you to come with us.” He stopped, struggling for words, and it was only because of that that he heard the tiny, shocked intake of breath from Deadpool. Suddenly, he had the one word he needed. “Please.”

“Okay.”

The word seemed to fall out Deadpool’s mouth on pure instinct, but he didn’t retract it. Peter felt like he might cry, and stubbornly blinked the wetness from his eyes while grinning wider than he’d thought possible.

“But!” Deadpool jumped in, holding up a finger sternly. “If we’re doing this then we’re doing it properly. I am not half-arsing this and getting you killed because you were all impatient to get back. We go on _my word_ , and if that takes three weeks, then you’ll wait and not pester me about it or anything.”

Peter swallowed. The idea of another three weeks of this was… nigh on unbearable, but he nodded all the same. “Yes. Okay, yes.” He agreed, steeling himself for it. “You _are_ the one with the most experience at this sort of thing, so… I trust you, Deadpool.” He concluded, telling himself as much as he was telling the soon-to-be-ex mercenary.

“Wade. My name’s Wade.” Deadpool corrected.

To Peter’s ears he sounded almost shy. Or, at least, Deadpool’s version of shy, which was slightly aggressive and very obnoxious. It brought a smile back to Peter’s face. “Nice to meet you, Wade. I’m Peter.”

Wade looked away abruptly, and Peter got a funny feeling he was blushing under his mask. It put a flutter in Peter’s gut that wasn’t at all unpleasant. Which made a nice change from the norm. “I already knew that, dumbass.” Wade informed him, attempting to sound arch and unimpressed, and mostly just coming out defensive and embarrassed. Peter ducked his head to hide his own slightly flushed cheeks, and pointedly ignored Skye’s dramatic gagging noises.

* * *

Looking at the place from the outside, one wouldn’t imagine it was the headquarters of an egomaniacal warlord amassing a religiously devout army intent on conquering Steve’s home. The entire complex had been carved into the side of a mountain, save a small number of campsites set up nearby, just enough to excuse the presence of people. The only signs on the outside that there even was a massive complex inside the rock was the occasional well-disguised window and the occasional trickle of people coming and going out of the only door.

The doors were surprisingly small for everything Steve knew about the God-King. His months spent searching the Southern Continent had given him more knowledge about the man who called himself a God than he knew what to do with. He had expected massive, intimidating doors, possibly carved with various scenes of torture, death and genocide, since one of his epithets was ‘Consort of Death’ and he actively encouraged people to worship him as a deity. Instead, if it weren’t for the people, Steve might have missed the entrance all together.

If Steve had been any less stubborn, he might have been intimidated anyway, despite the lack of any typical intimidation techniques. The fact of the matter was that Thanos was _good_ at what he did. He’d successfully destabilised Aegis without much apparent effort, he was smart enough to keep his headquarters hidden, and to encourage secrets and silence in his followers, which meant he knew Aegis would be sending spies.

Luckily, Steve had always been more hard-headed than was altogether good for him. So he didn’t balk as he slipped onto the road, hood drawn low over his forehead to hide the blonde hair that would immediately single him out as foreign, and a large pack of supplies slung over his shoulder as his cover for getting inside. He’d been working up to this day for weeks now, learning everything he could about the stronghold in the mountain, and it was hard to keep the tension, the battle-readiness, out of his posture.

Just like everyone else he’d seen going in, he was stopped at the doors and asked about his purpose. However, the guards were bored and annoyed at being out in the chill wind blowing in across the open plains, so they were the opposite of diligent in checking him and his supplies. They asked him to open up his sack for them to check he really was carrying food, which he did, but they didn’t ask him to lower his hood.

The one check he couldn’t avoid, that he knew might screw up his entire plan if he couldn’t bluff his way out of it, was the delicate line of spellwork scrawled across the threshold of the mountain fortress. As far as Steve had been able to determine, it detected magic, lighting up white if the person crossing it had even the smallest good luck charm sewn into their clothing. He hadn’t been able to figure out what the rules were about it. Some people had their spells confiscated – which wouldn’t work in his case – and some people were ignored as they passed through the door. He would just have to take his chances. Of course, just as he had known it would, the runes lit up the minute he had one foot over them.

“Hey!” One of the guards called after him. “Hand over any spells you have.” He ordered, striding over to stand between Steve and the long sloping tunnel that disappeared into the mountainside.

“I, uh… I can’t.” He admitted sheepishly.

“And why not?” The guard demanded, looking down his nose at Steve.

“It’s on my bones.”

Before the guard could scoff at him, Steve lifted his hand and focused on the magic in his bones. It brought a soft glow to his skin, reddish-orange through all that flesh and blood, but noticeable, especially in the half light at the entrance of the tunnel. The guard’s eyes widened in awe, then abruptly narrowed with suspicion. “You didn’t say you were one of the God-King’s honour guard.” He accused.

Uh-oh. Steve could improvise like a pro in the middle of a fight, but situations like this usually tied his tongue in knots. This is why he wasn’t a spy like Natasha, he acknowledged with grim amusement. The thought of her, however, did at least give him the necessary boost to unstuck his throat and get his voice to work. “Supposed to be keeping it quiet for now.” He informed the guard, hoping against hope this would be enough to get him in. He knew, of course, that he was going to cause a ruckus at _some point_ , but he’d prefer that to be _after_ he did what he came here to do.

The guard didn’t seem particularly convinced, but he hesitated all the same. “Ah, damn it. Fine. I’ll take you to the Soldier. He’ll know if you’re meant to be here or not.” He decided, then called over to one of the other men on duty at the doors and informed him that he’d be gone for a while. The other guards all eyed Steve with a mixture of awe and suspicion that was actually _not_ the weirdest sort of look Steve had ever gotten. Then he was being led deeper into the mountain.

The main tunnel zigzagged twice, then abruptly opened up into a wide hall illuminated by pairs of witchlights mounted on the walls at regular intervals. The ceiling was suddenly so far above Steve’s head he felt like he was in some sort of palace or temple. Even the stone walls didn’t damage that impression, so expertly carved they seemed almost marble smooth.

In between the witchlights, much darker, smaller tunnels branched off, all the way up until they reached a pair of massive doors. These doors _were_ carved with scenes of genocide, and in the ‘sky’ above these images of death and destruction was a massive carving of a grim reaper, grinning skull and hooded cloak and all. The scythe was lowered, wrapping around the base of the scene as if the reaper was drawing all of those doomed to die into it’s embrace. Inexplicably, the reaper’s form beneath the cloak was distinctly female and curvaceous.

The doors opened so smoothly and silently, that even before Steve got the chance to see beyond them, he already suspected that they hadn’t been opened by human hands. He had visited Barzilai Castle with Fury – even just a passing thought of the man had Steve struggling to fight off a wave of guilt and grief and rage – often enough that he was put instantly on edge by the suspicion that there might be a magical construct like JARVIS in the walls.

A second later, he forced himself to relax. Given that this entire complex had been carved directly out of the mountain, Steve was pretty sure there weren’t actually any convenient hidden spaces between the walls in which to hide the sheer amount of spellwork required for creating a magical construct of that level of complexity. And as he finally did step through the doors, he glanced at them and saw that there was spellwork etched into the inside edge of the two halves of the door.

There was an open archway ahead of them, and beyond it what looked like a maze of platforms and stairways. But the guard didn’t take him that way, instead leading him off to the side, where more small tunnels branched off. They passed a handful of people in the hallways, until they started going up, and then the number of people they were coming across thinned. Before long, Steve felt that they were as isolated as they were going to get. He didn’t want to cause a scene, but neither did he want to meet this ‘Soldier’. The _last_ thing he wanted was to come face to face with the upper echelons of this God-King’s army before he’d found what he was looking for.

It wasn’t hard to overpower the guard. He might have been well trained, but Steve had been doing this for decades, and that wasn’t even mentioning his enhancements, that made him faster, stronger, and far more durable than the average human. He knocked the man out with two swift, economic blows to the head, and then hid his unconscious body behind several crates of battleaxes in a storeroom. Or it could have been an armoury, Steve wasn’t sure, and didn’t much care. With that done, Steve took a moment to just breathe and figure out his next move.

In that moment, he realised he may have paid too much attention to how he was going to get in, and not spent enough time thinking about what he was going to do once he _was_ inside. He could feel Natasha’s reproving glare across an ocean and half a continent. Blushing despite being entirely alone – unconscious bodies notwithstanding – Steve went over everything he knew.

_All he’d wanted was to talk to Lord-Navarch Fury about his plans to visit Ferronia soon. He’d been sad to miss Tony’s wedding, but since Fury and Coulson were both going, it would have been a little too much for Steve to go as well. He’d stayed, and helped Lady-Admiral Hill keep Aegis organised in Fury’s absence. Now that Fury was back and things were back to normal, Steve felt he could maybe afford to take a break and go and visit. He and Tony weren’t exactly bosom friends – too much resentment between them, and Steve still hadn’t quite forgiven Howard for that – but he wanted to congratulate him and wish him well face-to-face all the same._

_He rapped his knuckles lightly against Fury’s office door. The door swung a few inches open at the force, sitting unlatched and ajar. Suddenly on high alert – because Fury_ never _left his door ajar. It was either open all the way, or shut and locked for privacy – Steve pushed the door open in the same motion that he swung his shield off his back and onto his arm._

_The scene that confronted him stopped him cold. Fury – bruised and battered and definitely worse for wear – was being held in the air by a metal hand wrapped tight around his throat. The assassin was masked, dark-tinted goggles covering his eyes and cloth pulled from his neck over his chin, mouth and nose. The rest of his clothes – tough leather armour, for the most part, as far as Steve could tell – were black as well, the only break in the colour scheme being the shiny silver arm and his brown hair._

_Fury’s eyes swivelled towards the door at the same time that the assassin cocked his head in Steve’s direction. There was a wet, sucking sound and Fury choked, eyes rolling up until only the whites were visible as blood dribbled out of the corner of his mouth. The assassin let him go, and he crumpled to the floor – still breathing, thank god, but that rasping, gurgling sound was definitely not a good sign – giving Steve a perfectly good line of sight to the thin, bloody knife the assassin was tucking away under the straps of his armour._

_Then the assassin was on him. It happened so fast Steve would have been dead if he hadn’t had the muscle memory of fifty years of combat experience in a twenty-year-old body. He got the shield up just in time to block the slash at his throat with a new knife, thicker, sturdier, better for close quarters combat than the other one, which had been every inch an assassin’s tool. He blocked another strike, then lashed out with his shield, shoving the assassin back with it and giving himself a second to plant his feet._

_Steve opened his mouth to yell for someone, preferably medical, because Fury’s breathing was getting shallower, but before he could, the Assassin slammed into him again, driving the air from his lungs in a soft grunt that would catch absolutely nobody’s attention. He caught the knife against his shield again, sidestepped a gleaming metal fist – covered in spellwork, Steve finally noticed – and nearly tripped over Fury before he righted himself and swung a punch at the assassin’s jaw. The man ducked, and seamlessly used the motion to twist into a kick. His foot caught the door on it’s way towards Steve’s side, and the door slammed shut, blocking off any more attempts to call for help. Not for the first time, Steve felt a surge of annoyance that Fury had decided to cover his office in soundproofing charms._

_After that, there was no time to catch his breath. He had never met someone so well-matched against him in endurance. His opponent was perhaps even more skilful than him, too, and far more aggressive in his fighting style. At one point, Steve got tackled, before he could deflect the move with his shield, and they grappled on the floor. The assassin pinned the shield with one knee, so Steve twisted his arm out of the straps and abandoned it for the moment, lunging up into the assassin when he wasn’t expecting it and throwing him onto his back._

_He got a metal elbow to the jaw for his troubles, which hurt a lot more than a regular elbow to the face. He knew he needed to get that arm pinned if he was going to have any hope of overpowering the assassin. It was easier said than done, however. The assassin was as difficult to hold onto as a greased eel, despite having long hair and lots of straps and sheaths and fastenings to grab. He grasped at anything he could – leather, hair, metal, fabric – fighting for purchase and leverage against the assassin._

_Something tore, and then Steve froze. Everything went still, right down to the breath in his lungs._

_The assassin’s mask had fallen away from his face, ripped and ragged along the seam, the black fabric hanging uselessly down from his neck. At some point in the fight, his goggles had been knocked askew and pushed up onto his forehead. Steve suddenly found himself lying on the floor, pinned by a metal forearm across his throat, staring up at a face he hadn’t thought he would ever get the chance to see again._

_“Bucky?”_

_The word came out hoarse and breathless, and that was only partly because of the pressure being applied to this throat. At the sound, the assassin – Bucky, it was_ Bucky _– jerked back like he’d been slapped, and the pressure eased, enabling Steve to gasp in a ragged breath and cough it back out again. Bucky stared down at him with wide eyes that abruptly narrowed with anger and confusion. “Who the hell is Bucky?”_

_Now Steve was the one feeling like he’d been slapped. Or possibly stabbed in the chest, with the way his heart felt like it was breaking all over again. He’d been alone so long. He’d lost Bucky first, almost forty years ago, and then Peggy some five years after that – although they remained friends until her death only a few years ago – and he’d been so alone for such a long time. Having hope dangled in front of him, and then abruptly ripped away by the reality of the situation felt unnecessarily cruel. Fate must be laughing at him._

_He lifted a hand, unable to stop himself reaching out. His fingers brushed Bucky’s cheek, and his vision wobbled and fogged with tears at the feel of blood-warm flesh under his fingers. He blinked, and the tears spilled over, dripping down his temples and into his ears. With restored clarity he could see that Bucky was staring at him in alarm. In fact, he seemed almost_ frightened _._

_Someone knocked at the door._

_“Sir? I have those reports you wanted.” Lady-Admiral Hill’s voice called, crisp and clear._

_Bucky’s head jerked towards the sound, and he said something in a dialect of the southern continent Steve didn’t recognise, but he knew Bucky well enough to know when he was cursing. Then he was gone in an explosion of blue auroras, and the last few shards of Steve’s heart shattered in his chest._

_“Sir?” Lady-Admiral Hill called again, worried now._

_Pulling himself together, Steve hauled himself up and, with shaking hands, leaned over to tug the door open. Lady-Admiral Hill gave a small cry of alarm as the opening door revealed Fury’s prone and bloody form, and then she was shouting for medical personnel and checking Fury over for injuries and letting Steve just kneel there and try to process everything that had just happened._

_Seconds or minutes later, it was hard to tell, hands shook him, and Steve looked up to find Lady-Admiral Hill standing over him. “Lord-Admiral Rogers? What happened?” She demanded, once she knew she had his attention._

_Steve cleared his throat and tried to find words. “There was an assassin. He stabbed Fury. We fought, and then-” He couldn’t bring himself to say it. He wasn’t sure why not, there was at least a small part of him that wanted to scream it from the rooftops. Bucky was_ alive _. But then, if Fury died, that would make Bucky Aegis’s most wanted. He couldn’t have that. He loved Aegis with all his heart, would happily die in service to her if that was what was needed. He and Peggy had poured their hearts and souls – their sweat and blood – into her after they’d lost Bucky._

_Peggy had even started to recover because of Aegis. The hard work and her new purpose softened her grief, let her move on and find love again. Steve never had. It was hard for him to realise, but the truth was that even Aegis could never be more important to him than Bucky. He just couldn’t point the finger at Bucky._

_“-Then you knocked and he left.” Steve finished lamely. Hill glanced over at the window, only barely wide enough for a human to pass through, which was supposed to be an emergency exit for Fury if he was ever cornered in his office. She obviously assumed it was how Bucky had left, and Steve didn’t bother to correct her._

_After a moment, Hill turned back to Steve. She looked sympathetic for a moment, then her face hardened. “What did this assassin look like?” She asked._

_Steve really didn’t want to tell her that, but he didn’t want to lie to her either. She had every right to want to know who had attacked her leader. He just didn’t want to point the finger at Bucky before he could… he didn’t know what. Convince him to come home? “I didn’t get a good look at his face. He wore a mask. Brown hair, metal arm.” He explained briefly, as he watched the doctors carrying Fury out of the room in a rush, transporting him down to their workspaces in the lower reaches of the fortress. “Is- is he going to be okay?” He choked out._

_Lady-Admiral Hill’s expression was not reassuring. “We’ll do everything we can for him.”_

After that, Steve had gone home, and within hours the news of Fury’s death had launched him into action. He’d told the newly promoted Lord-Navarch Coulson he’d needed time to grieve, and he’d given Steve permission for time off straight away. Steve had packed his bags and spent the next several months trekking through the southern continent, looking for Bucky.

All the evidence said that Bucky was working for the God-King willingly, but Steve just couldn’t accept that. Even if Bucky had forgotten Steve and Aegis and his own name, it wouldn’t have changed who he was, and Bucky had never been the sort accept ‘divine right’ as a reason for someone to hold a throne, which the God-King was taking to a whole new level. There had to be something they were holding over him, some knowledge or punishment or… something, that they were using to get him to cooperate.

His movements were probably restricted in someway, but Steve had to admit that it wasn’t likely he was actually being held prisoner. Although the prison cells might be a place to start looking. If nothing else, he might be able to break some people out and cause a distraction, or use them as bait to lure Bucky out, but that was a long shot.

There had been very few whispers of the man with the metal arm while he was searching, but just enough to let Steve know he was on the right track. Looking ruefully down at the unconscious guard, Steve decided that maybe, despite the apparent lack of information about Bucky, finding someone to interrogate was probably his best chance right now. Nodding to himself, Steve squared his shoulders and set off to find someone he could beat some answers out of.

* * *

To say that Skye was annoyed that Peter had accepted the ‘on Deadpool’s word’ part of the deal was an understatement. Several days had ticked by since then, and Skye was beginning to wonder how long they were supposed to wait before they accepted that Deadpool had been lying to them. Peter, in a complete switch from his previous restlessness, seemed content to wait as long as it took, which only wound Skye up more.

_It doesn’t matter either way, Skye. There is a rescue team coming for you both._ JARVIS reminded her for the umpteenth time as her emotions radiated to him across their bond. Skye nodded to herself and tried to absorb that. It only half worked, so she turned her mind to other issues.

_Have you gotten any demands from Thanos yet?_ She asked. The delay, after weeks of captivity, was baffling.

_We received word from Aegis early this morning that your father had been contacted. I presume it was several days ago now. The only things Thanos requested were small, nearly inconsequential._ JARVIS reported to her.

_It’s a test._ Skye concluded grimly.

_That is the conclusion we have come to as well_. JARVIS confirmed. _I believe Lord-Navarch Coulson intended to comply this time, to buy your rescuers time to reach you._

_He can’t do that forever, though._ Skye mused, worried.

_No, but you will not be there forever, so it is a moot issue._ JARVIS responded, about as flexible as a foot thick steel wall. It made Skye smile despite herself, and she made sure her head was lowered so her hair hid her expression from Peter and Deadpool. Not that she really needed to, she thought with exasperation. Peter and Deadpool were playing what looked like a very complex game with pieces from every single one of the different game sets Deadpool had, and a handful of throwing stars as well.

As she looked up through her hair to check on them, she saw that Deadpool wasn’t looking at the game any more, but staring over his shoulder at the door. “They’re late with the food.” Deadpool announced, somehow managing to make it sound ominous. Peter made a confused sound, but Deadpool barely acknowledged it. “I’m going to go check it out.” He declared, hopping up and striding out of the door before either Peter or Skye could question him.

Peter glanced back at Skye. “What?” He asked.

Skye just shrugged back. “Hey, you’re the one that can actually make sense of most of what comes out of his mouth. You tell me.” Peter gave her a dry look for that, but didn’t actually argue with her, which was pretty smart, since Skye had all the evidence in the world to back her up.

They waited in silence for Deadpool to return. Even though Skye had no idea what to expect, it certainly wasn’t for the man to bounce back into the room, spread his arms wide, and announce “Pack your bags, kids, we’re going on a road trip!”

“A what?” Skye asked, struggling to process.

Peter, on the other hand, was scrambling to his feet eagerly. “Now?” He checked, and Skye caught up with the situation in a rush. She leapt up and joined Peter at the bars.

_I think we’re escaping now._ Skye let JARVIS know, all her thoughts thrumming with eager and slightly fearful anticipation.

She could feel the switch as JARVIS went on alert, focusing on her. She could also feel his worry, and his faith in her, which was simultaneously warming and somewhat daunting. _Be careful, and good luck._ JARVIS wished her, more in feelings and concepts than actual words.

“Now, baby boy.” Deadpool confirmed. “That is, if you’ve got a way past these shiny bars, because they’re enchanted to stop most weapons.” He explained, kicking at some of the weaponry lying around at his feet.

Peter glanced at Skye in the same moment that Skye looked across at him. Without a word needing to be said between them, they grinned. “Oh, trust me.” Skye said smugly. “That won’t be a problem.”

“We’re going to need a couple of those throwing stars, though, or a small knife.” Peter added, and Deadpool passed him the weapons. Peter handed one off to Skye, and they both started scratching new spells into the metal with their improvised tools. Peter was slightly slower than Skye, because she barely had to pause for any of the calculations she needed to do. JARVIS was in her thoughts, absorbing what she wanted and presenting her with the best designs in a fraction of the time it would have taken her clumsy human brain to work it all out. “Done!” She announced, breathless and giddy. The spells she’d placed on the bars started sparking. “We maybe want to stand back?” She suggested.

Peter finished his own spells in a rush, and the two of them darted to the back of their cell, turning their faces away from the bars. Skye heard Deadpool say something about wanting to touch it, and was about to call out a warning when the whole thing exploded. It wasn’t a particularly large explosion – JARVIS had helpfully supplied some equations that would help keep the blast localised – but Skye still felt the heat buffeting her.

“Wade!” Peter called out, a little desperate with fear.

“ _Ow_.” Came the indignant response.

Against all of her better instincts, Skye found herself a little bit worried. Not so much for Deadpool himself, but she knew Peter would be all upset and guilty and blaming himself if the mercenary had been hurt by their spells. Looking up, she saw that Wade had obviously not been braced properly against the explosion – or he’d been standing too close, which was just as likely – since he was now sprawled on the far edge of his bed, head and shoulders hanging off the side and out of sight, legs akimbo and looking rather singed.

Skye could see all of that through the brand new ragged hole in the bars. It was about six feet in diameter, two feet off the ground, and the edges of the once solid bars were still glowing faintly with heat and looked sharp enough to cut. Peter barely seemed to pay the danger any attention at all. He scrambled through the hole with reckless disregard for his own safety. “Oh, god, Wade. Wade, are you okay?”

Just as Peter reached him, Deadpool laughed. “That was _awesome_! Let’s do it again!”

Peter stumbled to a halt, staring down at the utterly insane mercenary with a mixture of bewilderment and relief on his face. “You’re not hurt?” He checked.

“Oh, no, that _totally_ hurt.” Deadpool corrected absently, but he still flipped over backwards and sprang up onto his feet again like he got blown up every day. “But I’m good.” He added, when he caught sight of the worried lines on Peter’s forehead.

“Someone probably heard that, so we should get moving.” Skye pointed out, following Peter’s path out of the cell with a lot more care. Deadpool nodded his agreement and turned towards the door, pausing only to collect two handfuls of throwing knives. He then began tucking each one away somewhere in his clothes with relatively easy access. Skye decided he had the right idea and looked around for something she could use as a weapon. Her eyes lighted on a staff with a wickedly curved blade at one end. It looked familiar, and as she pointed at it and asked “Hey, can I borrow this?” she got a sudden sense of déjà vu.

“Huh? Oh, the bisento? Sure.” Deadpool confirmed. “You pick one you’d like, too, baby boy.” He encouraged.

“Uh… I’m really not much of a fighter.” Peter hedged, but he obliged anyway, bending down to scoop up a weighted rope. He spun it in one hand, getting a feel for it, and smiled. “I had one of these when I was a kid. Smaller, and, you know, padded, but…”

Deadpool cooed at him, making him blush. Skye rolled her eyes at the both of them and cleared her throat pointedly. Despite taking the time to flap a hand at her in dismissal, Deadpool did still take the hint to get moving, and led the way out of the door.

Once they were out in the hall, Skye let the battlefield reflexes that had been trained into her since she was ten years old take over. At first, there was no one around, the corridors this deep in the complex all but abandoned. Then they started coming across the occasional person. They all looked alarmed or harried and barely spared the three of them a glance as they passed.

“So, uh, what _is_ going on?” Peter asked as the fifth person darts past them with only a single glance and a respectful nod to Deadpool.

“Some shmuck is causing a ruckus in the upper levels, yelling about the Soldier or whatever. He’s got some fun spells on him, so he’s more trouble than people were expecting. I don’t know, but it’s a good diversion, so here we go.” Deadpool explained nonchalantly.

“Yelling about the Soldier?” Skye echoed. “What sort of yelling?”

Deadpool spread his arms at shoulder height in a dramatic shrug. “Pfft. I don’t know. ‘Come out and fight me’? ‘You killed my father, prepare to die’? ‘That’s a cool arm, I want it’? How should I know what beef that moron has with the Soldier? Soldier’s unalived a lot of people – not as many as me, of course, but still a _lot_ – he’s gotta have a lot of people pissed off at him.”

“No kidding.” Skye snarled.

“Point in case.” Deadpool agreed nonsensically.

Peter choked on a laugh. “I think you mean ‘case in point’.” He corrected.

“Whichever.”

They continued on, up staircases and through hallways that became more and more busy the higher up in the complex they were. They started getting more funny looks and frowns, but no one commented, and Skye was just beginning to hope they’d be able to get out of there without any problems at all, when a proud looking man with black war-paint on his face stepped into Deadpool’s path and forced him to stop. “I thought you were supposed to be guarding the prisoners.” He said, frowning at the mercenary.

“I thought so too, but I guess the boss-man changed his mind.” Deadpool bluffed.

The man snorted. “Smart of him.” He announced. Behind his mask, Deadpool grinned. “I have long thought your talents wasted as a simple guard.”

“I know, right?!” Deadpool agreed, nodding for emphasis. “I am so here for a little _action_. You know my swords haven’t seen any blood in months? That’s just not on. They need to be fed regularly or they get thirsty, and that always makes them cranky.”

The man grinned and nodded. “Good hunting to you.”

“Same to you and stuff.” Deadpool agreed idly, and the man stepped away again, letting them continue.

“Who was that?” Skye asked once they were well out of earshot of the man.

Deadpool shrugged. “One of the clan leaders. Warmongers, mainly. They face paint is kind of traditional, even though it makes them look dumb, not scary.”

“Says the man in a bright red executioner’s mask.” Skye shot back.

“Executioners are terrifying. And the red is so bad guys can’t see me bleed.” Deadpool protested. Peter snickered, and Skye found herself grinning despite herself. She still didn’t fully trust him, but the change of scenery after the last few weeks of monotony, and the newfound ability to stretch her legs and _move_ with a _purpose_ was making her a bit giddy. In the back of her mind, she could sense JARVIS’s amused indulgence and a careful warning not to get too careless.

They were stopped again three hallways later, this time by a cold-eyed middle-aged woman who walked with the grace of a dancer. The lines of age on her face only made her look more severe on top of the reproving glare she levelled at Deadpool. “What are you doing up here, Mercenary?” She demanded, voice as sharp and harsh as a whip.

“The overlord wants to see me.” Deadpool responded flippantly.

“What about?” The woman demanded.

“Probably wants me to go kick some guy’s butt. Isn’t that usually what he wants me for when he hasn’t stuck me on babysitting duty?” Deadpool retorted, tipping his head back in a way that made Skye think he was rolling his eyes under his mask.

“Mm.” The woman responded, lips pursed with scepticism. “And who _is_ guarding the prisoners in your absence?” She pressed.

“Goons number thirty-six and sixty-seven. How the fuck should I know who they were? All these people start blurring together after a while. This is why you need special outfits! And logos! And, like, unique weapons for everyone and special battle-cries and shit. So the readers can differentiate.” Deadpool explained.

“The who?” Skye whispered to Peter.

Peter pulled a helpless face that carried a bit more fondness than Skye was entirely comfortable seeing directed at Deadpool of all people. “The readers of this supposed fantasy novel we’re in.” He explained.

“This time.” Deadpool informed them, glancing over his shoulder. “Sometimes it’s comic books.” Skye shot Peter a look to try and ask him without words how this could possibly be a conversation she was having right now.

Peter just grinned. “Yeah. That.”

“You shouldn’t encourage his delusions.” The woman reprimanded sharply, giving Peter an unimpressed look that bordered on disgusted. The look she graced Skye with was more speculative. “Young lady, if you desire better training than you’re currently getting-” Here she shot another disgusted look at Deadpool. “-the doors of my academy are always open.”

“Hey! No poaching my minions!” Deadpool protested.

“Thank you very much for the offer.” Skye jumped in, before the situation could escalate into an argument that would only draw more attention to them. “I’ll be sure to come by and see you about that when we’re not so busy.” She assured the woman. She gave Skye an arch look, then nodded and swept away without so much as a parting glower in Deadpool’s direction.

“You look like you swallowed a lemon whole, by the way! Maybe you should work on that!” Deadpool called after her.

“Wade, for the gods’ sake.” Peter sighed, half laughing.

“What? She _does_!” Deadpool protested as they set off again.

They made it all the way to the grand antechamber before anything went wrong. Skye was tentatively starting to believe they might _actually_ make it out without having to fight, when a raspy, warbling voice that made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end rang out across the large room. “Mercenary!”

Deadpool spun on one heel and continued to walk towards the giant doors that presumably led to the exit, only now he was walking backward. “Yeah?” He called back. Skye glanced over he shoulder at the speaker and saw a figure in a mottled dark grey cloak moving swiftly across the hall towards them.

“Where are you taking the prisoners?!” The figure barked.

Deadpool jerked his thumb at the door. “I’m giving them a tour. Gotta show them all this great architecture. Impress upon them the size of all this shit, right? Intimidate them properly and all that jazz.” His stride got a little bounce in it. “I was-”

“ _Why_ are they _armed_?!” The figure suddenly interrupted, sounding furiously scandalised.

“Well, she did _ask_ if she could borrow it.” Deadpool answered him nonchalantly. Skye realised she was actually holding her breath and forced herself to breath even and slow, readying herself in case it came to a confrontation. “I said sure, why not? I mean, it’s not like they’d be able to get past me, even with my whole arsenal. What’s the harm in letting them get a little exercise?”

The figure had almost reached them now, and as the light from one of the witchlights hit him at just the right angle, Skye caught a glimpse of a face distorted by scars. Fear took hold of her, because even with that momentary look, she was pretty sure those scars had been spellwork. Spellwork carved into his flesh. “Return them to their cell, immediately, Mercenary! Or I shall do it myself and put you in with them!” The figure demanded harshly.

“Aw.” Deadpool was audibly pouting. “But I was gonna show them the doors next. It’s the best part of this whole place, you’ve gotta admit. The Mistress looks like a _complete_ knock-out in that carving. Not that she doesn’t _always_ look drop dead gorgeous – Hah, geddit? Drop _dead_ gorgeous. Ah, I crack myself up.” He declared wistfully, pretending to wipe away a tear.

“You _dare_ -?!” The figure shrieked in outrage.

Deadpool stopped walking at that. “I dare… to compliment her? Of course I do. Who doesn’t love a good compliment? And she deserves _all_ the compliments, because…” In lieu of a reason, Deadpool simply gave a low, appreciative wolf-whistle.

“Show some respect! The Mistress belongs to the God-King himse-” The figure began.

“Whoa, now!” Deadpool interrupted, voice dropping out of his light-hearted tone and straight into fiercely threatening. Skye looked at him, startled, and saw that not only had his voice changed, but his whole body language had turned threatening and aggressive. “The Mistress doesn’t belong to _anybody_ but herself, and she would _fuck you up_ if she heard you saying that she did! Show some respect yourself!”

Skye wanted to roll her eyes, but she didn’t quite dare with the scarred figure bearing down on them. Even when he was genuinely angry, Deadpool still managed to sound like a toddler half the time. The figure, on the other hand, actually faltered. “That is besides the point!” He retorted quickly, defensively. It seemed that the prospect of displeasing this Mistress _was_ actually that frightening. “Return the prisoners to their cell at once!”

“You’re not going to shut up about that, are you?” Deadpool complained.

The figure was, predictably, incensed. “You are stalling! You are helping the prisoners to escape! How dare you betray the God-King this way?!”

“Crap.” Skye heard Peter breathe in resignation.

Deadpool, on the other hand, sounded positively gleeful when he said “Okay, let’s do this.” and then launched himself at the scarred figure so fast he was nothing more than a blur in Skye’s vision.

There was a clash of metal on metal, and then the figure was screaming “TRAITOR! THE MERCENARY IS A TRAITOR TO THE GOD-KING AND HIS MISTRESS! KILL THE TRAITOR!” and people were pouring into the hall and unsheathing weapons. Skye brought her staff up and settled into a ready stance, then swept forwards to meet the first enemy. Within seconds she was surrounded, with Peter at her back so they could protect each other’s flanks, and everything became a blur of movement and adrenaline and desperation. The scarred figure was still screaming, even as he struggled against Deadpool. “TRAITOR! HERETIC! INFIDEL! HEATH-”

He was cut off with a disgusting, wet, choking sound. Everyone in the antechamber froze, turning towards the cloaked, scarred figure as one. He crumpled, hitting the floor with a dull thump, and Deadpool flicked thick crimson blood off his sword. “Ah, that was satisfying.” Deadpool announced, in a tone of visceral pleasure. Then he turned to eye the crowd. “Who’s next?” He chirped brightly.

The fight resumed with a furious roar, which didn’t even come close to drowning out Deadpool’s elated whoop as he leapt to meet the hoard of angry acolytes. Skye redirected her desire to throttle him into the fight, and decided that the first thing she was going to do once she was home was make herself a new staff. As much as she liked the bisento, she missed her old weapon more than she’d thought she would.

“We can’t beat them all!” Peter called to her over the din.

“We need to get out of here!” Skye shouted back, smacking one of the goons’ weapon out of his hands and cracking him across the face with the blunt end of the bisento. He crumpled, unconscious or dead, she didn’t know, and she spun her weapon around to block someone’s attempt to stab her in the side. “Those doors have to be magic, right? I don’t see any other mechanism for opening them.”

“Probably.” Peter agreed, ducking an attack that brought him close to her. She pressed her back to his, to guard it as well as to make conversation easier.

“So we need to figure out how to open them.” Skye decided.

_If you can get a look at the spellwork, I should be able to determine a way to open them._ JARVIS informed her. There was a tentative edge to his thoughts and the Skye could tell that he was wary of interrupting her concentration when she was in the middle of a battle. Wordlessly, she reassured him that she could multitask at least that much.

“Think you can get to the doors without being stabbed?” Skye asked Peter.

“Uh…” Peter began uncertainly, sounding understandably distracted. “…I can try?” He hedged.

“Not good enough.” Skye decided, her frustration mounting. At least she had lots of willing volunteers to take her irritation out on. “Where’s Deadpool?” She snarled.

“On top of the pile of dead bodies?” Peter informed her in a very small voice that she barely heard over the noise of the battle. Skye looked around, and caught a glimpse of Deadpool, head and shoulders above the crowd of enemies. Before she could ascertain whether or not Peter was right about the dead bodies, her distraction nearly cost her a limb. Although she managed to avoid the worst of it, the sword still sliced a deep gash along the outside of her thigh, and then she was forced to dodge another attempt to disembowel her.

“BUCKY!”

Skye’s head whipped up at the sound of that voice. “ _Steve_?!” She called out, half expecting no answer, or to get a funny look from Peter because, obviously, she must be hearing things.

A blonde head appeared behind two of Thanos’s goons, just as stunned and bewildered at seeing her as she was at seeing him. “ _Skye_?!” Steve gasped out, which successfully got the attention of the minions between them. Steve was momentarily distracted by punching them unconscious.

“Lord-Admiral Rogers!” Peter sounded less shocked and more pleased than Skye had managed. He looked like he was about to say more, but he was interrupted when Steve pulled him out of the way of a sword that was swung at his neck.

“Peter?” Steve questioned without pausing in his attempts to knock out all of Thanos’s minions. Wh-?” Before he could finish, the two goons that had been bearing down on Peter that Steve had been starting towards both lost their heads.

“ _Deadpool_!”

The bodies of the goons collapsed, revealing said man standing behind them, visibly beaming behind his mask. He was covered in blood, but it was kind of hard to tell. Skye ruefully admitted to herself that he was right about the red outfit being a good way to hide bloodstains. Peter started to laugh, but the moment of humour didn’t last long as they were pressed in on all sides, forced to defend themselves against yet more attackers.

“We really need to get out of here.” Skye snarled, defending Deadpool’s flank as Steve took out one of the goons aiming for her head.

“I’m not leaving until I find Bucky.” Steve informed her stubbornly.

“Bucky?” Skye heard Peter question.

The name was familiar to her, but it took her a moment to place it. Once she did, she found that she was only more confused than ever. “Wait, isn’t that your-” She was actually a little grateful to the minion that had interrupted her by trying to stab her, because ‘isn’t that your dead husband’ was not the most tactful of questions. Of course, she couldn’t think of a more tactful way to finish it, so she changed tack, instead. “I thought he was dead?”

“So did I.” Steve admitted, a wealth of guilt and self-loathing behind those three tiny words.

Skye’s eyes widened, and she felt a swell of sorrow for him. “Has Thanos been holding him prisoner all this time?” She asked, dreading the answer. She and Peter had barely been able to stand a few weeks, and that was with Deadpool around for entertainment and company. She couldn’t imagine what fifty years of that would be like.

Steve didn’t answer. That was okay, because Skye was caught up in fighting for her life, too. A couple of minutes later, Peter spoke up, sounding a little out of breath. “So we find this Bucky, and _then_ we get out of here.” He decided.

“What’s a Bucky?” Deadpool asked.

“He’s my husband.” Steve replied shortly.

“Ooh. Gotcha.” Deadpool acknowledged. He slammed his shoulder into the muscle-bound goon bearing down on him, and sent her sprawling into the ones clustered behind her. Snickering at them, Deadpool made short work of killing them as their allies tried to get around the tangle of bodies on the floor without stepping on them. “What does he look like? I know the prisons here like the back of my hand – better, actually, cause the back of my hand changes every day – so I bet I’d know where he is. Unless he’s one of the boring ones that won’t play cards with me.”

Steve threw his shield so that it ricocheted from skull to skull to give himself a moment to speak. “Well, he’s got brown hair, blue eyes, about five foot eleven…” He paused to catch the shield as it winged its way back to his hand, then drew in a deep breath. “Oh, and he’s got a metal left arm now.” He finished.

There was absolutely nothing that could have prepared Skye for hearing that. She stumbled, her guard dropping as she tried to process what she’d just been told. Which, of course, was the stupidest thing she could have done. She had a single second to wonder if it was the last mistake she was ever going to make, as a sickle-shaped sword swung towards her exposed throat and JARVIS’s alarm filtered through into her mind. Then she was being grabbed, and there was a clang of metal on metal.

Somewhere in the distance, she heard Deadpool yelp “You’re married to the Soldier?! …Wow. Do you two need a third, because I am _totally_ single right now- _Hey_ , I was using that hand!” but she ignored it because she really couldn’t handle any _more_ insanity.

She looked up and saw that Steve had curled around her, shield up to fend off the blow that should have killed her. “Sorry.” Steve huffed. He tried to smile apologetically at her, but there was so much pain and fear and uncertainty in his eyes that it didn’t work at all. “I shouldn’t have dropped that on you like that.”

“Your _dead_ husband _killed Fury_!” Skye burst out, pushing away from him.

Another mistake, but this time, Skye was more angry than shocked, and the sneak that tried to stab her in the side got gutted for his trouble. “I know.” Steve acknowledged, not looking at her. Skye couldn’t tell if that was because he couldn’t bear to, or because he needed to keep his eyes on the fight. “I know, but… it’s _Bucky_.”

“He _kidnapped us_!” Skye pressed, tears stinging at her eyes, but she blinked them back and took her turbulent emotions out on Thanos’s henchmen.

That seemed to hit Steve like a physical blow, and his lapse of attention earned him a nasty blow to the arm not holding the shield. He flinched curling his arm protectively against his chest as he lashed out with the shield and knocked his attacker back. “I’m sorry.” He said to Skye when they both had half a moment to breathe. “You guys should get out of here. I’ll find Bucky by myself.”

For some reason, that only made Skye angrier. “You’re such a shit, Rogers.” She snapped at him. “Did you even have a plan when you came charging in here, or was it just to cause as much havoc as possible while screaming for your dead husband?” She demanded. Steve looked sheepish and didn’t answer, which was an answer in itself really. “Oh my gods.” Skye sighed in disbelief. “This is such a mess. You might be all magic and shit, but you _are_ going to get yourself killed on your own, and Dad would _never_ forgive me if I let that happen. Gods.” Steve blinked at that, and then a look of such painful, apologetic gratitude passed over his face that Skye _almost_ felt bad for him. She was sure she would, when the anger and betrayal faded, but right now, she just felt annoyed and fed up. “We’ll find your stupid undead husband, but you _owe me_ , like, _big time_ , mister.”

* * *

The moment Skye had made her decision, Wade lurched into action. “Well, the Soldier will probably be guarding Thanos’s treasury right now. Come on, baby boy, let’s go get him.” He called, already starting to cut his way through the enemies in the direction of one of the little hallways, rather than the main doors.

“Oka- _Wade_! Your _hand_!” Peter gasped.

Wade looked down his left arm, saw nothing amiss, so looked along his right. His hand was gone, cut off at the wrist and the stump was still bleeding, albeit sluggishly. Oh, right. That had happened. “It’s fine, Petie. It’ll grow back.” He assured him.

Peter gaped at him. “It’ll _grow back_?!” He squeaked.

{Gods, he’s so cute when he’s scandalised.}

[Horrified. The word you’re looking for is _horrified_.]

{At least he _cares_ enough to be horrified.}

[I guess- _Shit_!]

Wade leapt forwards to kill the bunch of idiots that were coming up behind Peter, and suddenly wished he had his hand back so curling his right arm protectively around Peter wouldn’t mean he was getting blood all over him. Not that that stopped him, but he did feel a tiny twinge of guilt about it. It was abundantly clear that Peter was not a fighter. He could hold his own, sure enough, but he wasn’t used to a battlefield like the rest of them were. “Watch yourself, baby boy. And yeah. It’d go quicker if I could just reattach the old one, but _someone stole it_.” He yelled at the crowd of goons in irritation. A handful of them flinched away from his ire, which was mildly satisfying.

Peter made a bewildered, distressed little noise that tugged unfairly at Wade’s heartstrings.

“Don’t worry about it.” He insisted. “Now lets get you out of here before you keel over.” He decided, giving Peter a quick, assessing look while he was decapitating another goon.

“I’m fine.” Peter protested, but he was out of breath, visibly exhausted, and shaking.

[Nope. Not buying it.]

“Don’t make me carry you, because I will.” Wade warned, nudging Peter in the shoulder with his bloody stump of a wrist, encouraging him to start moving. “That tunnel, there.” He informed him, pointing. “Go.”

Peter obeyed, and Wade kept pace with him, sword flashing as he kept everyone away from Peter. He got a few new injuries himself, but as long as they didn’t hack any more bits _off_ , he was healing faster than they could injure him. “Skye!” Peter called over his shoulder, catching the young woman’s attention, and her companion’s, too. “This way!”

When the two of them caught up, Wade took the lead, leaving Skye to watch Peter’s back, and the other guy-

[His name is _Steve_ , dumbass.]

- _Steve_ guarded the rear. There was a small commotion behind him, and he would have checked on them, but he was caught up trying to cut his way through a particularly stubborn knot of evil-doers wearing black war-paint. He heard Skye call “Peter! What’re you-?!” and then, a moment later she followed it up with “Oh my gods. I’m sure your boyfriend will be very grateful, but can you _not_?!”

“ _Skye_!” Peter protested, in that tone of voice he always used whenever he wanted to curl into a ball in abject embarrassment. “I’m not- That’s not- Why must you do this to me?” He whined. “Don’t I even get a break because we’re fighting for our lives?”

“Evidently not.” Skye shot back with false brightness.

{Aww, aren’t they so adorable?}

[Ugh.]

Then Wade was facing a handful of goons who were obviously more intelligent than the general mob, because they had figured out where Wade was aiming, and they had formed a human barricade across the entrance to the tunnel. Only slightly more intelligent, though, because if they were _really_ smart, they would have run screaming in the other direction the moment they realised Deadpool was out for their blood.

{Stabby-stabby!}

Wade cut through them like they were paper, then turned to check on the others. Peter was right behind him, looking pale and exhausted, so Wade held out his free – handless – arm for him to hold on to. Peter hesitated, but accepted, and Wade felt a little stung that Peter was so wary of touching him now.

[You’ve just massacred a bunch of people in front of him, remember?]

{But he _promised_ …}

Somewhere along the way, Peter had lost his weighted rope and picked up a sword, which Wade approved of. Not that Peter looked like he knew what to do with it. He was holding it the way you’d hold a cane, not a sword. Exasperated, and pretending not to be a little hurt by his reluctance, Wade let Peter use his arm as a support as he climbed over the corpses in the entrance so that he could rest in the relative safety of the hallway beyond.

Skye came next, fighting every inch of the way, with Steve right behind her, watching her back. She stumbled on the corpses at Wade’s feet, so Wade offered her his arm to stabilise herself too. Unlike Peter, Skye gave him an alarmed, disgusted look, and made her way by herself.

{I don’t like her.}

[She’s funny, though.]

{Don’t care. She’s _mean_.}

Steve didn’t follow Skye, instead choosing to remain at Wade’s side to keep the tunnel free of enemies. “Hey, is there another way out?” Skye wanted to know.

“Nope. It’s through those doors or not at all.” Wade replied.

“No, I meant…” Skye began, making a small frustrated sound. “If I collapse the entrance to this hallway, can we still get back to the doors?” She rephrased, and Wade understood. He felt a little bit gleeful at the prospect.

{…Okay, maybe I like her a _little bit_.}

[Ha! Boom!]

“Oh, right. Sure. Yep. Absolutely.” Wade assured her.

“You’re not just saying that because you want her to blow something up, are you?” Peter asked, but he sounded amused rather than suspicious, so Wade didn’t take offence. Not that it was entirely unrealistic, but he wouldn’t trap people who couldn’t heal like he could in an enemy fortress. Unless they deserved it. Which Skye might, but Peter certainly didn’t.

“No. Don’t worry, baby boy.” Wade assured him, grinning.

Less than a minute later, Skye yelled “Get back!” and Wade and Steve threw themselves into the tunnel. Peter and Skye were already darting further down the hallway, so Wade didn’t slow down. He did look over his shoulder though, and was treated to the glorious sight of the end of the tunnel exploding. Shrapnel went flying from the walls, and Wade heard several people scream in pain. Then the ceiling of the hallway collapsed, bringing down a wall of rubble that almost entirely blocked the tunnel off from the antechamber.

The four of them stopped running and caught their breath as the dust began to settle. “Woo!” Wade whooped, the only one of them that wasn’t out of breath. “We should have opened with that.” He decided.

Peter burst out laughing. Wade turned to grin at him, and found him leaning against the wall, battered and bloody and sounding a little hysterical, but still laughing and looking at Wade like he wasn’t a creepy, insane freak with a missing hand. A hand that was already beginning to grow back, as it happened. Idly, Wade started rotating and flexing his new wrist, even though there wasn’t much beyond it at this point. Then Peter lifted his hands to rub his eyes, one of which was still curled around his sword.

[Hold on, that looks like…]

{Aah! He rescued our baby!}

“That’s my katana!” Wade exclaimed in surprised delight.

Peter startled, blinked at him for several seconds, then looked down at the sword in his hand. “Oh, yeah. I, uh- I saw it, and I figured… you wouldn’t want to leave it behind? So I grabbed it.” He explained. He moved as if he was about to hold it out to Wade, then hesitated, glancing down at Wade’s missing hand. “Um…”

Wade sheathed the katana in his hand and bounded forwards to take the other one from Peter. “You’re okay, baby, you’re okay. Daddy’s got you.” He cooed at the sword. Then, full of bubbly, bright relief, Wade pressed a masked kiss to Peter’s cheek. “You’re the best, baby boy.”

“I- Um- That’s- What- I mean-…” Peter stammered, blushing. “You’re welcome?” He squeaked, uncertainty making it sound like a question.

{Can we keep him? _Pleeeaaase?_ }

[For the hundredth time! No!]

{Hrmph, killjoy.}

Steve cleared his throat, looking faintly embarrassed as well, which Wade didn’t understand at all. “We should keep moving before they start trying to clear that.” He suggested, indicating the cave in at the end of the hallway.

“Right. Let’s go looking for the guy that killed Fury.” Skye agreed, her tone biting.

Wade ignored that and the way Steve flinched at the anger in her voice, and instead started down the hall. The others followed him, Skye and Steve walking in tense silence, but Peter sped up his pace a little to walk alongside Deadpool. “Are you sure you’re okay?” Peter asked.

“Fit as a fiddle.” Wade assured him, tilting his head to the side to give Peter a quizzical look that he wouldn’t see. “Why?”

“Your _hand_ , Wade.” Peter reminded him. “I just- _Gods_ , you lost your _hand_ for us, and you’re acting like it’s no big deal but-”

[It’s really not.]

{He’s being so sweet. I just wanna pinch his cheeks.}

“I told you, it’ll grow back.” Wade repeated. Then, because Peter was still looking concerned and sceptical and, bizarrely, _pained_ , he lifted up his arm to flap the re-growing stump in the air at eye level. “Look. See? I’ve already got half my palm back. Gimme quarter of an hour and I’ll have all ten fingers again.”

Peter looked, although Wade could tell he was only humouring him. Then he blinked and looked closer. He took hold of Wade’s forearm to hold it steady, and Wade shivered despite himself. It wasn’t often someone touched him without the intent to do harm, and it was… strange. Not a bad strange, though. Not bad at all. Slowly, relief began to dawn on Peter’s face, and Wade nodded to himself in satisfaction. “You’re like Steve, aren’t you?” Peter asked. Wade made a noncommittal sound to indicate his lack of knowledge on the subject. “I mean, you’ve been enchanted. Probably on your bones?”

“Yeah. Healing spells. I’ll heal from just about anything, given time.” Wade confirmed.

Peter nodded, but his attention was on Wade’s arm. His hand slid down so he could brush his fingers along the exposed skin of Wade’s wrist. Wade sucked in a soft, involuntary breath, more out of shock than anything else, and Peter retracted his hand sharply. “Sorry. Did that hurt? I’m sorry.” Peter said quickly.

“What? No.” Wade corrected him, shaking his head. “You’d have to do a lot more than just _touch me_ to hurt me, baby boy.”

“Okay. Just… let me know if I do, okay? I don’t want to hurt you by accident.” Peter entreated, looking up at Wade with those big liquid-brown eyes of his, so earnest and imploring and kind that Wade found he couldn’t meet his gaze.

[Holy shit, can this kid pull off the puppy-dog eyes.]

{…That’s why he didn’t want to touch us earlier. He thought he might _hurt_ us…}

[…Oh.]

“Yeah. Okay.” Wade agreed, because gods above what else could he do in the face of that look? His voice came out a little hoarse, which Peter blessedly didn’t comment on, just smiled and nodded as if Wade’s answer had made everything right with the world.

[We are so screwed.]

{Yes! That means we can keep him, right? Right?!}

[…This is a really bad idea. You know it’s only going to end in blood and tears.]

{I don’t care! Let’s keep him!}

Wade found he agreed with both of the boxes. It probably was going to end in blood and tears, but he was going to try and keep Peter anyway, because he was just a glutton for punishment like that. “Here.” He said, holding the katana Peter had retrieved out to him again. “You should use this. You know, since I don’t have a hand to hold it with at the moment. I know you two will take care of each other.”

Peter took the weapon, his hands uncertain on the hilt, but his expression turned determined as he nodded. “Okay. Thanks, Wade.”

They came out of the staircase they’d been climbing, and found themselves facing an open archway, through which Wade could see the Soldier. He was standing squarely in the middle of a large room full of pedestals, each one cradling a uniquely powerful, dangerous or rare piece of spellwork. Some of them were weapons, some of them were purely decorative – orbs and fine plates and an ivory horn and a few books – and some of them looked so bizarre Wade wasn’t even going to begin trying to guess at their purpose.

“Bucky.” Steve said, and it sounded like it had been punched out of him.

The Soldier flinched, minute but visible.

[That’s interesting.]

{That’s _very_ interesting.}

Steve stepped forwards, stowing his shield back over his shoulders and approaching the Soldier with his hands up in a universally recognisable gesture of harmlessness. Before he had a chance to do or say anything else, the Soldier sprang at him like some giant, deadly, magical-cyborg jungle cat.

[That was a terrible metaphor.]

{It was a simile.}

[Which _ever_. It was still _awful_.]

The Soldier slammed into Steve fist first, and sent Steve sprawling, because of course his shield had been stowed on his back and he hadn’t got it out in time to block the blow. Wade wasn’t actually sure he’d even tried. The Soldier followed him, advancing on him at a steady, highly intimidating pace. Whistling appreciatively, Wade settled in to watch a master at work. Not that he _wasn’t_ a master, but there were different shades to this un-aliving business, and while Wade was excellent at what he did, he wasn’t very good at the whole ‘silent, dark and deadly’ thing.

“Don’t do this, Bucky.” Steve entreated, ducking the next punch sent his way, but not moving to retaliate. “I don’t want to fight you, I just-” Steve cut off as the Soldier managed to knee him in the gut, and he doubled over, wheezing. The elbow the Soldier was bringing down towards the back of Steve’s neck faltered and froze, giving Steve enough time to stumble backwards a few paces and straighten up, one hand curled protectively over his obviously still tender stomach. The Soldier shook his head, growled, and went after Steve again with renewed ferocity.

Quickly becoming bored, Wade left the two of them to their fight, and took a proper look around the room. It was a large room, with pillars at regular intervals, all carved in the likeness of Mistress Death, so Wade spent several minutes ogling them appreciatively. The pedestals bearing various treasures were set out in little clumps, presumably keeping related artefacts together, and the closer to the center of the back wall they got, the more likely they were to have an artefact on them. Wade wasn’t particularly interested in the statues and books and orbs, but the weapons were like dangling raw steak in front of a starving wolf.

[Go check out that massive ass sword! I bet you can’t lift it!]

“Shouldn’t we help?” Peter asked, startling Wade and making him forget the cutting remark he’d been about to make to the white box about his strength. He blinked over at Peter, then followed his gaze to the two men still engaged in a very one-sided fight. Steve was already looking more than a little beat up.

“Nah. If the blonde hunk wants to get beat up, I’m not gonna stop him.” Wade replied, flapping a hand in the air. “I don’t get involved in marital spats, anyway. It’s bad form.”

Peter shook his head, looking desperately concerned. “This isn’t a marital spat. I think the Soldier- Bucky, I mean. I think Bucky might actually _kill_ him.” He exclaimed, tearing his gaze away from the fight to look beseechingly at Wade.

“No, Steve won’t let him _kill him_.” Skye corrected, but she sounded doubtful.

{…I’m not so sure. He _still_ isn’t fighting back, and- _Ooh_ , that’s gotta hurt!}

[Metal fist right to the face! How does he not have brain damage right now?]

{Maybe he does? I mean, he _is_ letting himself get beat up by an infamous assassin.}  
“I don’t care.” Wade whined, turning away from the fight and going to try his luck at lifting that giant-ass sword. It was taller than he was and almost as broad as his shoulders, but when he grasped the handle and heaved at it, it flew upwards as if it weighed little more than a rapier. “ _Whoa_!” Wade yelped as the sword’s momentum had him staggering backwards and accidentally sinking the blade half-way into the wall. “ _Jackpot_!” Wade crowed, and tugged the sword back out of the wall, giving it a glowing look. “Aw, yes! I am _keeping_ this. Oh! That looks fun!” And with that, Wade was off, investigating every last weapon the room had to offer. He decided he was going to keep most of them.

Finally, his attention was drawn by a semi-circle of six pedestals that were set out on a small dais at the back of the room. The pedestals were set at the base of a giant painting of Mistress Death standing triumphant among the stars with her arms spread wide. She was wearing her human face in this painting, unlike in the carvings, and even though there was no hope of an artist truly capturing her likeness, Wade thought this one had made a damn good effort. The tiny, chilling half-smile on her bone-white lips was almost exactly right.

The pedestals beneath that painting were the oddest part of the room. Mostly, the pedestals nearest it were filled, and the ones further out remained empty, but of the six of them, only two were filled. One with a glowing blue cube that Wade recognised as the container for the fancy teleporting amulet Thanos routinely lent out to his assassins and messengers. The other was a _very_ interesting looking sceptre with a glowing yellow amulet set into the base of the blade.

“Skye! Don’t-!”

Steve’s shout caught Wade’s attention as he was reaching for the sceptre. He paused and looked over his shoulder just in time to see Skye slam the butt of the bisento he’d lent her into the side of the Soldier’s head.

{Given. Let’s just give up and admit we’ve _given_ her that bisento.}

[Hey now! We _are_ going to want it back, you know, eventually.]

{Why? Petey-pie promised us an _enchanted armoury_. Let her keep the plain old bisento.}

[But it’s _ours_.]

The Soldier crumpled. For a moment, Wade thought Skye had actually knocked him out, but then he groaned, tried to get up, and staggered into a collapse like a drunk kitten. “I was _not_ going to watch him kill _you_ too.” Skye snapped at Steve, her voice thick in a way that suggested she was close to tears. She was refusing to look at Steve, her head turned away from him and her hair shielding her face from view. “Grab him and let’s- let’s just go, okay?”

Steve’s shoulders slumped in surrender. “Okay. Sorry.”

“Good. Wade, are you-” Peter began, then stopped when he caught sight of all the everything in Wade’s arms. He blinked rapidly, then managed to look back at Wade’s face. Or rather, his mask, as it happened. “Are you, uh, ready to go?” He checked, sounding more doubtful than the first time he tried to ask.

“Nearly, lemme just grab this…!” Wade called over his shoulder, resuming his grab for the sceptre. His hand closed around it, and he had a fraction of a second to admire the weight of it before all hell broke loose.

{ _AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!_ }

[ _WHAT THE EVER-LOVING HOLY FUCK-TRUMPET?! NO! GET OUT! FUCK OFF!_ ]

{ _AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!_ }

Somewhere outside the blinding pain that was splitting his skull in two, Wade was vaguely aware of a sudden crashing of metal on stone, his knees hitting the floor, and a hand on his shoulder. Before he could properly register that it wasn’t actually a harsh, restraining grip, Wade had jerked away from the touch, which had the unfortunate side effect of sending him crashing into one of the pedestals. He slumped to the floor, his vision nothing more than disorienting flashes of colour in time with the pain in his head, and his ears felt stuffed full of cotton.

{ _AAAAAAAAAAAAAH!_ }

[ _YOU COCK-SUCKING MOTHER-FUCKING USED UP DOUCHE-NOZZLE! I SAID GET OUT!_ ]

Wade’s arm jerked against his will, and he locked his muscles up. He wasn’t sure what was going on anymore, nothing made sense, and he couldn’t think past the pain and noise in his head, like an entire herd of elephants was trampling through his brain, stomping their giant feet all over his soft sensitive grey matter and making a hell of a din while they did it. All he knew was that he wasn’t going to be moved without some real convincing effort.

[ _GET THE BLOODY FUCKING HELL OUT OF OUR TURF OR I SWEAR I WILL GUT YOU!_ ]

{ _AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!_ }

[ _PUSS-FILLED ROTTEN CESSPIT OF A WHORE’S TWAT-WAFFLE!_ ]

Hands – unsteady and shaking – touched Wade’s shoulder and cheek. They were… surprisingly gentle, and drew Wade back into himself just enough that he could hear – distantly – a panicky voice calling his name. “Wade?! Gods and Goddesses and fucking Spirits, Wade, please. Just let go. Let go, please. Come on, you’re _hurting_ , you just need to let go.”

{ _AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!_ }

Thinking was hard. Thinking was so incredibly hard, but eventually it clicked. This was Peter. Peter, who was kind and sweet and listened to all of Wade’s stupid rambles and got upset when he was hurt and laughed at his awful jokes and actively _wanted Wade around_. It was about the same time that he realised that that he also noticed that some of the noise in his head was actually outside his head. Someone was screaming. That someone was him.

He tried to shut up, and managed to clamp his jaw shut with a strangled whimper. Which wasn’t very dignified at all, but at the moment, Wade really didn’t care. It also revealed that he wasn’t the only one screaming, but he could bring himself to worry about that right now. It wasn’t Peter, so Wade didn’t care. With what felt like a Herculean effort, Wade convinced the muscles in his arm to go lax. Something – oh, right, the sceptre, Wade remembered now – was yanked out of his hand.

The agony stopped.

[FUCKING FINALLY! _God_. What an _asshole_. Trying to get rid of us! How _dare_ it!]

{…Is it really gone?}

[Yes, and good fucking riddance.]

{Thank fuck. I think I’m gonna cry.}

[You can’t cry, dumbass. You’re just _text_.]

{Can if I want to!}

Wade peeled his eyes open and forced himself to sit up. His head spun alarmingly, and he swayed where he sat, blinking away stars. He could taste blood, and it took him a moment to figure out that it hadn’t come from his tongue or his throat or his gut, but from his nose, and had dripped into his mouth at some point. Ew. His ears were ringing something awful, but even through the high-pitched shrieking, he heard Peter let out a low, awed and faintly intimidated “Oh my _gods_ …!”

“Nrrg… What?” Wade managed to ask. He blinked a few more times, as if that would help get rid of the light show dancing across his retinas, and tried to focus on Peter. He was kneeling over Wade, holding the sceptre in one hand, and his eyes had gone a mottled, glowing yellow-white from lid to lid. “ _Peter_?!” Wade yelped in alarm, trying to get up and half falling over before he caught himself.

“I’m okay, Wade. I just… _Holy cheesecake_ …! This is… this is incredible.” Peter breathed.

“ _What is_?!” That was Skye. Wade was pretty sure, at least.

[Dumbass, like there’s another woman here.]

{There could be.}

“Um… I can- I think this is designed to, uh… let the wielder read and manipulate other people’s minds?” Peter replied, uncertain and breathless with something that was a little too scared to be called reverent. “It, uh… It _really_ didn’t like Wade. And, um, there’s- there’s a link to Bucky here, I think, and- Oh, that… that would explain why he didn’t recognise Steve. Um, just- Let me… I think I can fix that, but… _There_.”

Wade turned his head to look at the others. Skye was hovering in between where Peter was on his knees beside Wade and where Steve was holding up a very weak Soldier. As Peter finished his rambling monologue, the Soldier sagged in Steve’s arms, and Steve immediately looked very alarmed. “Bucky? Buck?! Are you-?!”

The Soldier gave a heartfelt groan. “Stevie?” He rasped out, sounding small and uncertain, with a bizarre mixture of fear and relief in there for good measure.

Steve let out a sound that Wade was pretty sure was a sob, and sort of crumpled, half-deliberately sinking to his knees and pulling the Soldier – _Bucky_ , apparently, for really real – more securely into his arms. “Oh, thank god. Bucky.”

“ _Shit_. Shit, Steve, I- I’m so- I’m so sorry. I-”

“No, it’s fine. It’s okay now. You don’t gotta apologise. You got your brain taken over, that’s not something you ever gotta be sorry for. Not ever. God, I’m so glad you’re okay.” Steve sounded choked up, like he was crying.

Wade looked away from them, because it was just rude to stare at two guys blubbering all over each other. Not that that had ever stopped him before, but he was a little worried about Peter. His eyes still looked super funky. But then he put the sceptre down and pulled his hand back as if he really didn’t like touching it, and the glow faded. “Peter?” Wade checked, and when Peter looked at him, it was absolutely those devastating brown bambi-eyes of Peter’s looking back.

“I… really don’t like that thing.”

“Yeah, me neither.” Wade agreed emphatically. Peter hiccupped on a laugh that was part hysteria, part incredulity, and very little actual humour.

“We are _not_ leaving it here, though.” Skye interjected, striding over.

Peter looked at her, then down at the sceptre, and sighed in resignation. “No. That would be bad.” He agreed on a sigh. “But I am _not_ touching it with my bare hands again. That is _way_ too much power over other people for anyone to have. We should see about maybe dropping it into Mount Vulcana.” He grumbled. While he was muttering to himself about that, he was also stripping off his jacket, leaving him only in a simple white tunic. He used the jacket to bundle up the sceptre, careful not to touch it without the fabric between, and slowly got to his feet with the bundle tucked under one arm. Then he held his other hand out to Wade. “You okay to stand?”

“Yup.” Wade replied, even though he had no idea. On taking Peter’s hand and letting him haul him to his feet, Wade found it wasn’t a lie. The room seemed to spin and wobble a little, but it was only for a moment. He considered the mess of weapons he wanted to steal, and the two men who were only just managing to pull themselves together, and said “On the plus side, we _also_ have a teleport amulet so we don’t have to fight our way out the front doors anymore.”

Peter slumped in relief. “Oh, _thank gods_.” He groaned.

Grinning, Wade scooped his new weapons back into his arms, and then opened the glowing blue box. He tipped it up so the amulet itself fell into his palm. A pleasant little buzz travelled up his arm, and Wade couldn’t help but grin like a maniac. “Come and gimme a hug, baby boy! Group hug time! Come on, guys!” He called.

Peter laughed at him, and to Wade’s surprise, actually obliged his ridiculous request, by tucking himself up against Wade’s side and slinging an arm around his waist. Skye pulled a face at him, but grabbed hold of his arm all the same. It took a minute or so for Steve and Bucky to finish composing themselves and make their way over. They had an arm around each other, but didn’t hesitate to reach out and grab hold of Wade’s shoulders.

“Righty-dokey, here we go.” Wade announced. “Three… Two…” He began, and then a swirling cloud of blue light swallowed the five of them whole.

* * *

Teleporting was unpleasant. At least, it was for Steve. The whole experience left him disoriented and hypersensitive, to the point that even Bucky’s arm around his shoulders and weight against his side was almost too much. Going by the way Bucky flinched against him, it wasn’t all that fun for him either. Skye and Peter, on the other hand, looked breathless with awe, and the masked man with them – Steve wasn’t sure if his name was Wade or Deadpool, but he was going to go with Wade for now – actually whooped.

“Aw, mama, I have got to get me one of these!” Wade exclaimed as the blue light retracted from around them, revealing a rather dingy, shabby living area. It wasn’t the worst place Steve had ever seen, but the walls and floor were covered in stains and the table and single chair in the room looked to be on their last legs. The fireplace was spilling ash everywhere, and it looked as though it doubled as both the source of heat for the place and where any cooking was done. There were three doors, one sturdy enough that Steve suspected it led outside, another that hung open to reveal what looked to be a sizable armoury, and a third that was only open a couple of inches and was dark beyond the little sliver of light spilling in from the main room.

Bucky coughed out a feeble laugh, but it _was_ a laugh, and Steve didn’t know whether he was going to cry or pass out at the relief that swept through him. “Pretty sure there ain’t another like it in the world, Mercenary.” He informed Wade, and even though his voice was hoarse, he sounded like himself, and Steve couldn’t resist the temptation to press his face into Bucky’s hair and just breathe for a moment.

“Well, then I’m keeping it.” Wade announced, an almost childishly stubborn note to his voice. He stepped away from the little knot of people in the middle of the room and carried his new collection of weapons into the storage room. He didn’t bother to sort them, however, just dumped them in the middle of the room and returned. “Make yourselves at home and all that jazz. Won’t be staying long, not with this baby.” He tossed the teleportation amulet into the air and caught it again with ease to punctuate his point. “Just gotta pack up some things, maybe grab a bite to eat. There’s a great tavern not too far from here, we could-”

Wade’s rambling had carried him across the main room and to the door that stood ajar. He’d pushed it open, spilling light across the end of a bed that looked to be in just as bad shape as the chair and table, and a pair of elegant black-clad legs. Someone else being here was evidently unexpected, given the way Wade cut himself off abruptly and went for his sword.

“Hello, Deadpool.”

Steve blinked. That voice sounded familiar. He didn’t get to dwell on it, though, because Wade was already speaking, sharp and hard and very unlike his usual light-hearted tone of voice. “What are you doing here?”

“I’ve come to collect on that debt you owe me.” Steve was really very sure he knew that voice, but maybe he was imagining it. After all, why would Natasha be here? “I need your help.”

Unless… Steve turned to look at Skye, and saw a look of heartbreaking hope on her face. So it was Natasha. But Skye was also biting her lip to keep herself quiet, and there was an intently sceptical look in her eyes as she listened to the conversation. Steve knew that look from numerous other nobles of Aegis. She was waiting for some signal or codeword that it really was Natasha, and not someone doing a very good imitation. Wade made a surprised sound and asked “With what?” in a tone of such disbelief that it was almost a compliment.

“I need to infiltrate the God-King’s court.” Natasha announced coolly. “Someone very important to me has been taken by him, and I’m going to get her back.”

Wade was visibly taken aback. “Someone important to you? Who?”

“My daughter.” Natasha stated.

All the tension left Skye in a rush, a relieved little sob escaping her as she pushed past Wade with a little cry of “Mom!” She shoved the door wider on her way in, giving Steve a mostly unimpeded view of the way Natasha surged to her feet from where she’d been sitting on the end of Wade’s bed.

“Skye-?” Natasha’s soft exclamation of surprise was aborted as Skye crashed into her and hugged her. Natasha’s arms came around Skye after only a moment, and she started smoothing out Skye’s hair, murmuring to her in a language Steve didn’t understand. Skye responded in kind, her voice thick with unshed tears, and completely incomprehensible to Steve.

Not that _any_ of this was making one jot of sense to Steve. And Wade seemed to share his confusion. “Whoa, _what_?!”

Natasha looked up at him with a steely glint in her eye, but then her gaze skated past Wade and onto Steve. It wasn’t very often Steve got to see Natasha thoroughly taken aback, but she was now. Unfortunately, Steve really wasn’t in the right mood to appreciate it. Then her eyes found Bucky, and her expression went hard again. “Explain, Steve.” She ordered, in a tone of voice that sent a chill down Steve’s spin.

Steve opened his mouth, stopped, closed it again, and shrugged helplessly. Then, finally, he simply settled on “It’s _Bucky_.” Natasha narrowed her eyes at him, and Steve gulped, but didn’t back down. That only seemed to piss her off more, and she shifted her glare to Bucky, who met her gaze for all of a second before he looked away sharply.

“Hold up just one second, though. Since when do you have a _daughter_?!” Wade pressed.

“JARVIS said Matt was part of the rescue team. Where is he?” Skye asked over him.

“Matt’s here?” Peter perked up, happiness and relief radiating off him, until something seemed to occur to him, and he frowned. “Wait, how do you two know each other?” He wanted to know, pointing between Natasha and Wade.

“If everyone’s asking questions; I thought Skye was _Phil’s_ daughter…?” Steve interjected.

Natasha continued to stare at Bucky for another long moment, then rolled her eyes. “Sir Murdock and Clint are waiting in the tavern.” She flicked a quick glance at Wade. “I didn’t want you to feel _too_ ambushed.” She stated with the barest hint of a smirk, then continued addressing the rest of them. “We can go join them and everyone can explain _then_.” The look she gave Steve would have frozen fire, and it made it explicitly clear that he would have a lot of talking to do.

“Pops is here?” Skye asked, sounding relieved.

Natasha offered her a small, sincere little smile. “He is.”

Skye looked like she was on the verge of tears, but she held them back and simply nodded. Steve felt Bucky shift against him, and looked at him. He looked drawn and tired and miserable, and Steve didn’t need to ask to know that Bucky _really_ didn’t want to head out into a public space like a tavern right now. “Hey, you want to stay here and get some rest maybe?” He offered.

Bucky managed a grateful sort of grimace, and nodded.

“We are not leaving him alone.” Natasha warned him, in a soft voice that set every warning bell in Steve’s head ringing. Loudly. That was the tone Natasha used when she was angry enough to kill someone.

Still, Steve wasn’t about to back down just because she was cross at him. He set his jaw and looked up at her, gearing up for an indignant speech, but Bucky beat him to the punch. “It’s fine, Steve. Don’t pick another fight _already_ , for fuck’s sake, you just got done with the last one.”

It was a familiar refrain. Old and familiar and Steve was going to cry, because he hadn’t heard it said in that voice for fifty years. “Okay. Okay, whatever you want, Buck.” He agreed, because there was no other possible response to that right now.

Bucky managed a tired snort. “I think that might be the easiest that fight’s ever gone.”

“I guess I’m being nominated for guard duty again, huh?” Wade asked.

“No, I’ll-” Steve began.

“You still need to explain this.” Natasha interrupted, giving him a hard look.

“Wade, you don’t have to if-” Peter began.

“It’s cool, baby boy. I don’t mind. You know I’ve been angling to hang out with the Soldier for _ages_ , now we can finally catch an hour without Thanos being a dick about it. We’ll paint each other’s nails and gossip about boys. It’ll be like a super deadly, super awesome slumber party.” Wade rambled cheerfully. Peter still seemed hesitant to leave, but eventually, once Bucky had been settled in the chair, he let Steve steer him out of the house after Natasha and Skye.

They were in a small village, made up mostly of little wooden houses not much bigger than Wade’s – although in somewhat better condition – interconnected with dirt tracks rather than paved roads. It didn’t take them five minutes to reach one of the few two-story buildings in the place, that had a swinging sign proclaiming it to be a ‘Tavern and Inn’. Before they reached the door, it was already swinging open. A man dressed in dark red leather armour and a much brighter red blindfold stepped hurriedly out onto the street. Somehow, he had already homed in on them, or rather, one of them in particular. “Peter.” He said, voice full of fiercely restrained relief.

“Matt!” Peter called happily, picking up the pace and overtaking the two women to reach the blind man faster. Steve did remember Phil telling him about a blind knight who’d won the tournament at Tony’s wedding, and this had to be him. “You’re okay!”

Matt enveloped Peter in a hug once he reached him. “I think that’s my line, Highness.” He said, voice a little thick but otherwise remarkably composed.

“Last time I saw you, you’d been beaten half to death and you were still trying to get up.” Peter retorted. If Matt had his own retort to that, Steve missed it when Clint came spilling out of the tavern behind Matt and Skye was suddenly the one yelling and rushing ahead.

Clint was a lot less restrained than either Natasha or Matt, and scooped Skye right off her feet once she reached him. Skye laughed, bright and tear-clogged, and promptly wrapped her arms around Clint’s neck and started crying. As Steve approached, he could hear Clint mumbling reassuring nonsense into Skye’s hair. “Hey, I got you, squirt. I got you. You’re okay. You’re safe now.” He paused and looked up to meet Natasha’s gaze. “How _are_ we okay now?” He asked, looking bewildered beneath his relief. The confusion only increased when he caught sight of Steve. “Steve? What are you doing here?”

“Wade rescued us!” Peter jumped in, a little damp-eyed himself, but still riding the high of his escape and too joyful to be overcome like Skye. Matt and Clint both started asking questions at once, and Peter launched into the story of their escape happily enough. Natasha and Steve were left with the job of herding everyone back into the tavern and ordering them all some drinks to keep the proprietors happy.

By the time they were all seated, Peter had gotten around to the bizarre events that had transpired in Thanos’s treasury. “And… you know Wade isn’t… he’s got those voices in his head and stuff, and… when he, you know, touched it… well, it _really_ hurt him, and it was hurting Bucky, too. And once I got Wade to let go of the sceptre, I realised that was because Thanos had used it on Bucky? Like… he’d gone into Bucky’s head and taken… everything that made him _Bucky_ , I guess, out of his head, and it was all being kept inside the sceptre. So I put it back, and then Wade brought us to his house and Lady-Commodore Romanoff was there.”

The conclusion of the story was met with silence as the three rescuers absorbed it. Then Natasha turned to study Steve. “So you lied to us.” She said coldly.

Steve opened his mouth to protest that. It wasn’t exactly a lie, he hadn’t intended to keep it from everyone forever, just long enough for him to figure out what was going on with Bucky. He knew that Bucky would have been hunted remorselessly by Aegis if he’d told them everything, and he couldn’t bring himself to be a part of that. But before he could say any of that he realised – from the icy unimpressed look on Natasha’s face – that she knew all of that already. She knew him well enough to know why he’d done what he’d done. Setting his jaw, Steve gave her an arch look that seemed to surprise her slightly. “Don’t tell me you wouldn’t do the same.” He stated.

Natasha’s eyes flickered across to Clint, who had Skye resting against his side, her head tucked against his shoulder. Then Natasha looked back at Steve, eyes narrowing. Steve matched her stare, and held it until she looked away, rolling her eyes at him. “I’m still pretty pissed off you didn’t even trust _me_ with this.” She informed him.

At that, Steve actually did feel some remorse. “I wasn’t exactly thinking straight when I left.” He offered as an apology, although he wasn’t feeling guilty enough to actually apologise, especially considering the way she had looked at Clint just now. “Not that you actually have any room to talk.” He pointed out.

Natasha studied him a moment, then dipped her head in wry acknowledgement. “No one knows, if that makes you feel any better.” She paused, pressed her lips together, then added “Now, at least. Fury knew.”

“Not really.” Steve muttered, wincing at the mention of Fury.

“Um… why keep it such a secret?” Peter asked, oddly hesitant to speak up.

Natasha quirked an eyebrow at him. “You’re asking me this right after everything that’s just happened?” She prompted him pointedly. Peter frowned, then flushed as understanding dawned and he nodded sheepishly, rubbing at the back of his neck in embarrassment.

“That’s no way to live.” Steve said sadly, not meaning it as a criticism, but knowing it came out that way.

Shrugging, Natasha lifted her drink to her lips and drank half of it in one go. The tightness around her mouth told Steve that whatever it was she had ordered, it was strong. “It’s a good way not to die, though.” She retorted wearily.

“What she said.” Clint concurred, grinning. “With a side order of it being kind of fun to keep such a big secret in a kingdom full of snoops.” Across from him, Matt made a small noise of sudden understanding, and Natasha smacked Clint upside the head without looking up. “Ow! Tash! What’d I do?!” He whined.

“Some secret keeper you are.” Natasha retorted mildly.

“If it makes you feel any better,” Matt began with a mild little smile that reminded Steve of some of Natasha’s less dangerous I-know-something-you-don’t smirks, “I already knew the three of you were interested in one another. I just didn’t realise that you weren’t acting on it because you were trying to keep it secret from _other people_ , rather than each other.” He explained.

That earned him a sharp look from Natasha that was completely wasted on the blind man. “You’re dangerous, Murdock.” She informed him softly.

Matt’s smile broadened, which Steve thought made him either very brave, or very foolish, since that tone of Natasha’s usually meant trouble. “I like to think I am.” He agreed. “But not to the people I’m working _with_.” He added, less flippantly. “Your secret is safe with me.”

“Mm,” Natasha hummed noncommittally, then smiled, false and dangerous. “I’m glad, because if it wasn’t, certain parties might find out about your own inappropriate crush.” She informed him. “

Matt’s smile all but vanished. He dipped his head in Natasha’s direction. “I’m glad we’ve come to an understanding.”

Peter looked between them, frowning. “I’m still really confused.” He announced. Natasha smirked at him, the look she graced him with making it clear she was laughing at him on the inside. Peter eyed her, then shook his head. “Okay, I’m not going to ask about whatever just went on here-” Steve didn’t think he was imagining the way Matt relaxed minutely, and glanced questioningly at Natasha. She just continued to smile with delighted mockery. “-but I do want to know how you know Wade.” Peter finished, pointing at Natasha.

She shrugged. “We’ve worked together once or twice. He owes me a favour.”

“That is so uninformative.”

“That’s the point.” Natasha responded sweetly.

Peter blinked at her, then sighed and shook his head like he was giving up on the topic. “Well, Wade’s coming back with us, so I’m sure he’ll get a chance to do you that favour at some point soon.” He informed her.

Natasha’s eyebrows slowly rose. “He’s coming with us?” She asked slowly.

Peter nodded absently. “I’m gonna hire him – since it’s kind of my fault he’s ruined his reputation as a Mercenary – or, well, I’m gonna get Dad to hire him, since I don’t _actually_ have my own personal army.”

“I still think you two are disgusting.” Skye mumbled.

Peter went pink. “Shut up, it’s not like that.” He said at once.

Steve watched the two of them devolve into good-natured ribbing and playful banter, then turned a baffled look on Natasha. She was laughing, silently and behind her hand, but she was laughing. Clint leaned over slightly and nudged her with his shoulder. She nudged him back playfully, then caught Steve’s eye. “This is going to be a bitch to explain to Phil.” She said, not sounding very upset at all.

Clint snorted. He looked unfairly delighted at the idea, and he was grinning as he spoke. “Poor guy. He’s not going to know what to do with himself when we come back with Steve _and Bucky_. He’s going to be so flustered.”


	6. In Which There Is A Prison Break

“This sucks.”

All things considered, Darcy thought that was a pretty apt summary of the situation. The cell she was sitting in was just as golden as the rest of Asgard, but it was still a cell. It was a small, square room, with two cots bolted to the back wall and a mesh of diagonal gold bars made up the wall opposite. Nick had tested the bars when the guards weren’t looking, but they were magically charged and shocked him when he held on too long or applied too much pressure.

Darcy had watched his various, careful, escape attempts through two sets of golden bars, since she was sharing a cell with Jane, and Nick, along with Bruce, were in the cell opposite them, across a corridor that was regularly patrolled by einherjar. The rest of their entourage – only half a dozen servants – had been sent back to Ferronia with an armed guard.

“Thank you for that pertinent observation, Darcy.” Jane sniped irritably.

Darcy opened her mouth to snap back, but then stopped and only huffed a sigh instead. It wasn’t like she blamed Jane for being frustrated, and she didn’t want to argue with her friend. Mainly because she knew that raised voices would only agitate Bruce more than he already was. Thinking of him drew Darcy back to the bars, which the peered through to look over at Bruce and Nick in the other cell.

Bruce was sitting cross-legged in the middle of the cell, hands resting on his knees, eyes closed and expression serene. Nick was leaning against one wall, one knee bent up so he could rest his arm on it, the other stretched out in front of him. He was watching Bruce unobtrusively, unreadable to most people, but Darcy had gotten to know him well of late, and she could see the tightness around his eyes that meant he was worried.

A door slammed, and raucous voices followed the sound. Bruce flinched. After a moment of holding himself impossibly still, he took a deep breath to steady himself, and went back to his meditating. The voices got louder, and Darcy pulled a face as the words became understandable, and she recognised a rude joke being told. She caught Nick’s eye and he rolled his eyes in agreement. It was enough to put a tiny smile on Darcy’s face.

The guards reached their cells, bringing with them the smell of roasted meat. “Is meat the only thing you people eat here?” Darcy asked, because she was done biting her tongue and playing nice with these morons.

“If you don’t want it, darling, I’ll have it.” One of the guards retorted with vicious superiority. Jane gave him a withering look as he laughed and pushed their plates and a jug of water through a hatch near the floor. He turned his back on them to join his friend in front of Bruce and Nick’s cell. “Hey, wake up. Food.” He called.

“I wasn’t sleeping.” Bruce sighed softly.

“Well, whatever you want to call sitting around with your eyes shut.” The other guard sassed with a dramatic eye roll.

“The word you’re looking for is _meditating_.” Bruce informed him. Darcy couldn’t see him around the guards’ broad shoulders, but she had a bad feeling about the carefully neutral tone Bruce was using. “It’s a technique employed by some of the most successful fighters and warriors in the world.” He continued mildly.

“Doing nothing is supposed to make you a better fighter?” Mr Sassy asked sceptically. “Right…”

Mr Meat-Lover shook his head. “Do you even _actually_ have the battle-sickness, or was that just a ploy to win over the Empress?” He demanded. Darcy had a sudden, gut-deep desire to punch him in his snooty up-turned nose.

“I never called it that.” Bruce corrected, a hint of dark humour slipping into his voice now. “But you should know that the part of me that’s… how did Tyr put it? Been called away to fight in the eternal war? Well, sometimes he comes back for a visit, and he has a lot less patience than I do.” He warned.

Darcy saw the two guards exchange looks full of amused disbelief. “You know,” she jumped in, her blood pounding in her ears, “maybe you _should_ let the Other Guy out to play, Bruce. It’s probably our best chance of getting out of here. And I’m not sure I can stand listening to any more of this stupidity.”

“What did you say?!” Mr Sassy demanded, rounding on her.

“ _No_.” Bruce snapped, so fierce that the guard pulled up short. Darcy could see Bruce now, between the two guards’ shoulders, and he met her gaze steadily, jaw clenched so tight Darcy was pretty sure it had to be hurting him a hell of a lot. It took him a moment to let his muscles relax enough to continue. “No, Darcy. I’m not going to let the Other Guy out unless there’s absolutely no other choice. And I’m definitely not going to do it while I’m stuck in a very small space with Nick.”

“Thank you.” Nick interjected, perfectly deadpan.

Bruce shot him a look full of reluctant mirth. That mirth died a moment later when Mr Meat-Lover scoffed and turned towards the cell next to Darcy and Jane’s that had a couple of thieves inside. “Well, you’re not going to get out of that cell for a good long while. The Emperor doesn’t go lightly on traitors.”

Neither guard saw the ripple of green that passed over Bruce’s skin at that, but Darcy did. And so did Nick. “Bruce.” He said quietly, pushing away from the wall to slide across to sit beside the other man. Bruce didn’t react, so Nick continued to speak. “I’m going to touch you now, so don’t jump.” He warned. Bruce snorted. Although there was humour in the sound, there was far more anger there than the comment itself warranted.

True to his word, Nick reached out and took hold of Bruce’s hand. For a moment he just held it between his own, then he carefully and methodically started massaging the tension out of his wrist. By the time the guards were coming back from passing out the rest of the prisoners’ dinner, Nick had moved on to the other hand and was pressing the ball of his thumb into Bruce’s palm. “We should have put the man with one of the ladies, if what he needs is a good massage.” One of the guards – Darcy couldn’t even remember which nickname she’d given him – remarked crudely.

Bruce growled quietly under his breath, but stayed right where he was sitting, breathing slowly. Nick didn’t even flinch, he just kept working out the renewed tension in Bruce’s muscles. It was Darcy who lost her temper. “You really should have. I wouldn’t mollycoddle him like Nick does, and you’d both be pancakes by now. You have no idea how lucky you are that Bruce has the patience of a freaking saint, because _believe me_ , if it was me in his place, I would _not_ be holding back on your sorry hides. So shut the fuck up and mind your own gods damned business.”

The guards laughed. Darcy almost hit the bars just for the dramatic effect, but she didn’t want to be electrocuted, so she held back. The guards tossed out some offensive remark that Darcy knew she’d heard and understood, but less than a minute later, she’d lost the actual content underneath the helpless anger it evoked. Then the guards were walking away and the feeling only intensified.

“You shouldn’t try to reason with idiots, Darcy, it’s bad for your health.” Nick informed her.

Bruce nodded his agreement, although his reassurance seemed to be as much for him as for her “They’re not worth it.” He sighed.

“Oh, I know _they’re_ not.” Darcy responded with more bite than she meant to. “But _I_ am _totally_ worth the satisfaction of smashing their stupid heads together. It’ll be almost as good as a bar of chocolate and a hot bath.” She announced with relish. Nick and Bruce both laughed at that, and it was remarkable how just that little thing made Darcy feel so much better. She sat down and pulled her dinner towards her. It was only then that she noticed that Jane was still standing beside the bars. It occurred to her that it was really very unusual for Jane _not_ to weigh in on an argument like that. “You’re being disturbingly quiet Jane. What’s cooking?”

“I’m trying to figure out how to sabotage these stupid spells.” Jane replied absently.

Darcy nodded. “Oh, it’s that magic-fugue thing you do- Wait, you think you can magic our way out of here?!” She asked eagerly, leaning forwards.

Jane made a frustrated sound that didn’t bode well. “I don’t know. I can’t just scratch it and corrupt it, because that would likely kill us. And anyway, scratch it with what? This metal – whatever it is, I really need to get a sample – is way too hard for just using my nails or something. And even if I did have something, too much pressure at once and it’ll shock me. God, I really hate Odin so much, this is such amazing craftsmanship. Someone as much of a jerk as him shouldn’t be so good at magic.” She complained in rapid-fire bursts, her attention still clearly on the spellwork on the bars and her own thoughts, not on Darcy at all.

Darcy wordlessly reached into the secret pocket in her skirt and offered Jane her dagger. “You could use this. Careful though, it’s enchanted to shock when it draws blood, so, I don’t know how that’d interact with this.” She warned, waving a hand at the bars.

Jane looked surprised, but took the dagger. “I suppose they didn’t think to search you for a weapon because you’re a woman?” She asked irritably.

“Probably.” Darcy agreed.

Nick looked surprised, but also a little impressed. “You always keep that on you?” He asked.

“Pretty much.” Darcy confirmed.

There was a sudden crackle, a flash of white-gold light, and Jane got flung clear across the cell. She hit the back wall with a thud, and collapsed across both cots. “JANE!” Darcy yelped, scrambling to her feet to check on her friend.

Before she got there, Jane was already pushing herself up to glare groggily at the bars of their cell. “That was a bad idea.” She decided, and reluctantly offered Darcy her dagger back. “I think we’re just going to have to wait for… something to change.” She sighed, looking as though it physically pained her to utter those words.

“I guess.” Darcy sighed, sitting down heavily on the cot beside Jane. There was a drawn out moment of awkwardly resigned silence. “So, who’s up for a game of word association with our… breakfast? Lunch?” Darcy asked into the increasingly dour quiet.

Darcy was in the middle of vehemently defending her right to associate twist with wind, as in air movement – Jane was insisting that just because wind and wind were spelt the same, that didn’t make them the same word, and they were playing the _spoken_ version of the game, not a _written_ version – when Nick abruptly shushed her. She rounded on him, indignant, but before she could utter a word, he gave her a hard look, and held up his hand. Suddenly, Darcy became aware of the sound of footsteps approaching, muffled by the door between them and the hallway beyond these twin rows of cells.

“It’s too early for another meal, isn’t it?” Jane whispered.

Nick nodded slowly. “It’s not Odin. Too fast.” He muttered, and Darcy knew it was for their benefit, even though it sounded like he was talking to himself.

Voices sounded beyond the door, the words indistinguishable. Darcy got as close as she dared to the bars and listened as hard as she could, but it didn’t make any difference. Abruptly, the voices cut off, the door opened, and Thor strode into view. “Thor?” Darcy blurted out in surprise, staring as said man approached them.

Thor tried to smile at her, but it just looked pained. There was worry in his eyes and his shoulders were up around his ears with the amount of tension he was carrying. “Darcy.” He greeted her, stopping in front of her cell and looking down at his hands. Darcy followed his gaze and saw that he was fumbling with a small enchanted wand. Thor took a deep breath, visibly steeling himself, and then he passed the wand over the bars. There was a crackle, and the door to the cell sprung open. “Hurry. We have little time.” Thor instructed, turning to unlock Bruce and Nick’s cell.

Shock rendered Darcy immobile, and she stood gaping at Thor through the bars. Then she abruptly realised she could gape at him from the _other side_ of those bars now, and scrambled out of the cell with undignified haste. Behind her, Jane cautiously approached the open door, hovering on the threshold. Nick and Bruce were even faster than the two women had been, Bruce making it out first and heaving a great sigh of relief.

“Are you- No, that’s a stupid question. _Why_ are you breaking us out?” Darcy asked.

Thor turned to her, and she could see pain and resolute determination on his face in equal measure. “Because my father has let his pride cloud his reason. I could believe Loki a traitor – he has little love for Asgard – but not for Thanos. He has been harmed too greatly by that creature to ever aid him. And you- even had you sabotaged our defences for Thanos, I cannot imagine it to be for any other reason than to protect your brother. You are no friend to Thanos. And yet my father sees threats everywhere, and he will hear no sense, from neither myself nor my mother. He has said he intends to execute you – all of you – and if it means war with Ferronia, then so be it.”

“He _what_?!” Darcy and Jane yelped in unison.

Thor nodded, the pain in his eyes increasing. He bowed his head as he tried to compose himself, and when he looked up, the pain had cleared to make way for steady, calm determination. “I could never permit him to do that, to you or to Asgard.” Thor announced, and Darcy didn’t think she was imagining the way his eyes flicked to Jane as he said that. “Mother is of like mind, and told me in no uncertain terms that if Father continues to behave in such a reckless, paranoid manner, she will take the throne from him, by force if necessary.”

A beaming smile spread across Darcy’s face. “Your Mom is awesome. So what’s the plan?” She asked eagerly.

“Heimdall is distracting my father. My mother is fetching some books on magecraft she wishes you to have. Sif is guarding our exit. We should be able to leave the palace without raising the alarms, and then we will make our way to Ferronia where, if you will accept my aid, I should like to help you defeat Thanos.” Thor explained solemnly, following his words up with a small, apologetically hopeful smile.

“That-” Darcy began, but she didn’t get any further because Jane had thrown herself at Thor and kissed him. For a moment Darcy could see – on the sliver of Thor’s face visible past Jane’s hair – that Thor was thoroughly shocked, but then his arms came up around Jane’s slight frame and he kissed her back with enthusiasm. Darcy looked across at Bruce, who shrugged helplessly, and found she could only laugh.

Immediately, Jane pulled back, her eyes wide and her cheeks scarlet. “Oh, my god. I’m so sorry.” She apologised, stepping back out of Thor’s arms. “I- That was totally inappropriate, I am so sorry, I don’t know what I was-” Thor chuckled and stepped forwards, shutting Jane up as he cupped her cheek in his hand and pressed a chaste kiss to her still parted lips. “…thinking…” Jane trailed off, blinking dazedly and starting to smile.

“Do not apologise.” Thor assured her, beaming. “Although perhaps this is not the time?” He suggested with humour.

Jane cleared her throat and nodded. “Yes, you’re right. Later.” She muttered breathlessly.

“Later.” Thor agreed happily.

* * *

The guards outside were sprawled, unconscious, across the hall. Nick had to resist the urge to reprimand the heir to the Asgardian throne like he was one of the men under Nick’s command. “We should put them somewhere a little less conspicuous.” He suggested instead, and Thor agreed readily. Once the two guards were stowed discretely in their empty cells – and Darcy had given them both a quick kick for good measure – they were on their way.

The first stop was a small armoury, where Thor had stowed several large packs of supplies. It bolstered Nick’s failing faith in Thor’s plan, and he checked inside his own just to make sure he wasn’t deluding himself. There was bread and cheese and salted meat, along with a large waterskin, a thick blanket, a bundle of clothes, and a tinderbox. Glancing over at the others revealed similar supplies, although Bruce’s had a rudimentary first aid kit inside, and Jane’s held several basic cooking implements. Thor had two bags, one of which turned out to contain a tent, the other of which, besides more food and water, also held various smaller tools like a compass, a hatchet, and fishing lines, which had Nick nodding in approval. Overall, they were extremely well packed, and Nick shouldered his own pack with a grim sense of determination.

He was still healing after the beating he’d taken at the hands of Thanos’s assassin, and a prolonged trek through Asgardian wilderness was not going to do his injuries any favours. He wasn’t going to hold the others up though, since it was imperative they get Darcy and Bruce back to Ferronia before news reached Tony of his daughter and best friend’s imprisonment. Ferronia couldn’t afford a war on two fronts at the moment, but Nick was pretty sure that Tony wouldn’t let that stop him raising hell to get his daughter back.

“Take your pick of the weapons in here.” Thor offered, gesturing around them at the racks and racks of spears and swords. Nick looked longingly at the two-handed claymores, but knew his strength wasn’t back up to that sort of level yet. It might never be again, which was a painful thought, so he pushed it away ruthlessly. Instead, he claimed a falchion, a set of throwing knives, and a crossbow with quiver to match.

Darcy looked a little lost, so Nick took pity on her and handed her a simple shortsword. “If we’re attacked, stick them with the pointy end.” He advised with dry humour.

She grinned at him. “I know _that much_.” She retorted playfully. After a moment, she also found herself a sheath for her dagger, and a belt to attach both scabbards to. Jane, meanwhile, was being visibly overwhelmed as Thor tried to help her pick something out. She wound up similarly armed to Darcy, although with a half-size staff in lieu of an enchanted dagger.

Then Thor turned to Bruce, who was still hovering by the door, radiating awkward tension. “What of you, Bruce?” Thor asked. “What strikes your fancy?”

Bruce shuffled his feet. “Oh, uh. No thanks. I mean, nothing. I’m good.” He replied.

Thor frowned, a mixture of sympathy and regret playing across his face. “You need to arm yourself. Even if we make it out of the city without alerting my father’s guards, it will be a long, dangerous journey to the southern-most border. We will be travelling through some of the wildest parts of the empire, and our wildlife is nothing to trifle with.” He warned.

Bruce let out a bitterly wry chuckle. “Trust me, even without a weapon I’ll be the most dangerous thing out there.” He said darkly.

Now Thor looked disbelieving. “He’s right.” Nick concurred, and when Thor turned to look at him, he smiled a dark little smile full of secrets. “I’ve seen him in action. It’s nothing to scoff at.” He added, and Thor nodded his acceptance, even though his frown didn’t disappear.

They moved on, using the servants corridors as much as possible to keep out of sight of anyone who might know to raise the alarm. It was surprisingly easy, because the two dozen or so servants they passed took one look at Thor and bowed or curtsied, saying absolutely nothing about anything they might or might not have heard about his companions. Nick supposed that was a benefit of living at the top of an absolute monarchy.

Thor led them out into a walled garden, and they disappeared into the foliage before anyone at any of the palace windows had the chance to get a good look at them. A few minutes later, they came up against the tall, golden outer walls of the palace. They walked along in it’s shadow for a while, until they came upon a cobbled track that led to a much more understated gate than the one at the front.

It was there they found this ‘Sif’ that Thor had mentioned. She turned out to be a warrior, dressed in surprisingly understated shades of steel grey armour with brown and black leather underneath, her dark hair pulled back into a practical tail to keep it out of her face. She had even forgone the elaborate braids so many of these Asgardian fighters seemed to favour, which Nick privately thought was sensible and must free up a hell of a lot of her day.

She was standing guard at the gate, and when she saw them approaching, she nodded briskly to Thor and scanned her eyes across the rest of them. “The outer patrol will be coming in five minutes.” She warned. “We can try to go now, or we can wait for them to pass. Either way will be a risk. They could see us, or they could know I’m not supposed to be here. They’ll definitely know the gate’s not supposed to be left unguarded.”

Nick was reminded rather strongly of Lady-Admiral Hill in that moment, and the association made him feel a little better about putting his life – and more importantly Darcy’s life, since he knew Bruce could more than take care of himself – in the hands of near complete strangers. He let Thor ponder it for a moment, but before the Imperator could come to a decision, it was rendered moot anyway with a sudden shout of “I see them, Your Majesty!”

There was a unit of glittering, golden einherjar, made up of about twenty or so men, all jogging in time down the track towards them at a steady clip. A few paces behind them, the gap between them widening steadily, came Odin. He was walking with a slow, dignified pace that might have been threateningly nonchalant, if Nick hadn’t seen him on the verge of collapse only yesterday. Odin was an old man – remarkably old, in fact – and his age was showing. Of course, being old didn’t stop him shouting for reinforcements. “Einherjar! Imperator Thor has committed treason against the throne of Asgard! Seize him and his companions!”

After a heartbeat of stunned shock after the shout, Nick could see the scattered guards within hearing range abandon their posts to rush to the aid of their brothers in arms. Nick estimated they would double the amount of soldiers bearing down on them. He reached for his falchion, but stopped when _another_ unit of einherjar came marching out of the palace and began catching up to Odin. “They have a never ending supply of reinforcements, and we can’t take them all.” He announced darkly.

“…Bruce?” Darcy prompted tentatively.

Bruce shook his head. “Not unless there is absolutely no other choice.” He said vehemently.

“Then we run.” Nick decided, steeling himself. “Sif, lead the way. You know where we’re going. Thor, Bruce, stay at our backs.” He ordered. Sif gave him an affronted look, like she was on the verge of contesting his right to give her orders, but she subsided when Thor nodded. In the moment before they set off, Nick caught Bruce’s eye, and flicked his gaze to Darcy’s back. Bruce nodded, grimacing, but there was determination etched in the lines of his face. Nick found he could breathe just a little bit easier.

Then they started running.

There were more shouts from behind them, and Nick could hear Odin roaring about not letting them escape. They raced past the high walls of the various estates that had the honour of being built near the palace, down wide, pristine roads paved in pale stone. Nick had forgotten, in his weeks and weeks of recovery and avoiding too much exertion, just how good a proper adrenaline rush could feel. Not that this was what he’d _chose_ to do with his afternoon – unlike some people he could name that happened to be related to his lover – but he would take the little joys where he could find them. Sometimes that was the only way to get himself through the day without breaking down and killing everyone out of sheer exasperation.

They hadn’t even made it past the first set of estates, when a unit of einherjar appeared before them, filing into the crossroads up ahead and forming a human wall across the mouth of the street. Sif swore and drew out the double-bladed staff that had been strapped to her back, under her travelling pack. “We fight our way through and carry on.” She instructed.

Nick couldn’t see what other option they had.

Before they reached the einherjar, the half a dozen archers loosed a few arrows in their direction, which they mostly managed to dodge. One caught Jane across the calf, and she stumbled with a quiet yelp of pain. Darcy pulled up short to steady her and, in her inexperience, left her back exposed to the archers who were already drawing a second volley.

Working more on instinct than facts, Nick used the precious second he had as the arrows flew from their bows to slow his own pace, reach across Jane and yank Darcy towards him. She squeaked in shock and fell into him as he twisted with the motion, keeping himself between her and the archers. It did the job, and got her out of the way of three arrows that had been aimed for her, which shot through the air she’d just occupied and clattered into the paving stones several paces beyond. One of them caught in a crack and remained at a forty-five degree angle, while the others merely scratched the stone as they skidded into a flat, useless landing.

“Oh my _god_.” Darcy breathed, head twisted to look at the arrows from where she was still pressed up against Nick. After half a second that felt far too long, she looked back up at him. “You just saved my life.” She informed him, as if he didn’t know that.

When Nick opened his mouth to make a smart retort, she surged up and kissed him. It was short – thankfully, because they really didn’t have time for this – and a bit messy and fierce, all full of the heady mix of fear, giddiness, and relief that could only come from a close brush with death. Then Darcy was pulling away and Nick forced himself to focus on the fight they were standing in the middle of.

“Keep moving!” Thor roared at them as he approached them at full speed.

Bruce was only a few paces behind Thor, and was staring at them like they were both crazy. He was at least half right, Nick decided, even as he turned and started running again, pulling Darcy with him by the hand he had wrapped around her arm. Darcy stumbled, but then caught herself, although she wasn’t particularly graceful about it. “Oh, right. Running.” Darcy muttered, and finally managed to match Nick’s speed so he wasn’t actively dragging her along.

More arrows rained down on them, but they were sparser. The archers looked almost hesitant as the six of them, Sif in the lead by a considerable amount, pelted towards them. It didn’t help their morale that Nick was now returning fire with his crossbow, and his aim was _much_ better than theirs. Two swordsmen and one of the archers fell before their little ragtag group even reached them. Then Sif was on them, flinging herself into their midst with a fierce battle cry. That put a stop to the arrows the rest of them had been fending off, since the archers were forced to draw their swords to defend themselves against the warrior woman in their midst.

Nick took down one more swordsman with his crossbow – at this close range, the bolt punched straight through the man’s breastplate – then slung it back across his back so he could draw his sword. It felt good in his hand, it was heavy enough to feel solid and dangerous, but not so heavy that he thought it would tire him out too quickly. He decided he was going to see if Thor would let him keep it, and then all his attention was taken up as they barrelled right into the fight Sif had started, and he set to work clearing a path for them.

Before they could break through, the other einherjar caught up with them, and the fight became that much harder. Darcy and Jane were holding their own surprisingly well considering the two of them had never been in a real fight before, and Darcy only had the most basic of training with any weapons. Bruce was doing everything he could to stay out of it, although he looked conflicted and guilty the few times Nick glanced over to check on him. Nick personally thought it was past time Bruce accepted the situation he was in, but he reluctantly admitted that he valued Bruce’s friendship too highly to trick him into letting the other guy out to play.

Still, a few nudges in the right direction might not go amiss. Nick disengaged the einherjar he was currently fighting and let Sif take over, slipping sideways through the fight until he was beside Bruce and Thor, whom Bruce was ingloriously hiding behind. “We could really use a little more clout on our side right now, you know.” He pointed out, breathing a little hard as he parried a blow aimed at his bad leg.

Bruce shook his head, but when he met Nick’s gaze, Nick could see the fractures in his resolve. “I can’t, Nick. I can’t. I’ll _hurt you_ , or _Darcy_ , or- I _can’t_.” He insisted.

“You’ve fought before, though.” Nick reminded him, scowling fiercely at the einherjar currently trying to kill him, and feinting at the man’s left before twisting around – which was possibly a little too much for his still tender ribs – and taking him down with a swift stab into the small gap in his armour on his right side.

“Yes.” Bruce agreed, heavy with exasperation. Nick was suddenly very sure Bruce had just rolled his eyes at him. “But it was always _just me_ and an enemy army on those particular battlefields, so I never had to worry about-“ He cut off as Thor vanished from their side, drawn into a brawl with four einherjar at once. Nick suddenly found himself fighting two einherjar at once, one of whom was exploiting his blindside and leaving him relying heavily on instinct to keep his flank protected.

What Nick needed was to get them both on his good side, but if he turned to keep his original enemy in his sight, the other einherjar would be at his back, which would be even worse. He attempted to decapitate the one he could see, which he blocked, and Nick used his distraction to bring the heel of his boot down on the man’s toes. He yelped and backed off for a moment, giving Nick the space to deflect the other man’s stab towards his exposed side. He caught a flash of moment in the corner of his eye and ducked, neatly avoiding his second enemy’s slash at his neck. Nick straightened, and their swords clashed, driving against each other in a stalemate.

“Nick!”

Nick whipped his head around at Bruce’s frightened cry – which had an edge of gravel to it – just in time to see his original opponent attempting to stab him in the back. Then his vision was full of green, and the air was full of screams and terrified yelling and one very familiar voice whooping “Yes! Smash ‘em good, Bruce!”

Looking back at his second enemy, Nick saw that the poor man had gone whiter than a sheet, his eyes focused somewhere several feet above Nick’s head. “If you put down your weapon and back away slowly, he _might_ not turn you into smear on the road.” Nick warned him, aware that his expression was probably a little feral. Above him, the Other Guy roared so loudly that the soldier’s armour rattled. Nick didn’t bother looking at the Other Guy. He knew what he’d see. Bruce’s form, but larger, half as tall again as Bruce usually was and twice as wide, and packing far more muscles than Bruce had ever managed to get in his actual body. Not to mention the green skin, along with enough rage on his face to terrify even the most stalwart of soldiers. He huffed another, more ominous growl, and then he was gone, leaping at a cluster of einherjar and trampling them.

The einherjar in front of Nick dropped his weapon and started backing away, but he didn’t go far. He seemed to stall at the edge of the battle and hesitate. Nick wondered what the punishment in Asgard was for deserters and cowards, but it probably wasn’t very nice. He turned his attention away from him and instead looked around. There were a lot of corpses sprawled on the ground, all of them golden-clad, which was a relief. Darcy was obviously delighted to see the Other Guy, but beside her, Jane looked quietly terrified. Sif seemed to be taking the presence of the enormous green rage monster in stride, and was fighting on, although she did look faintly perturbed. And Thor was standing the closest to Nick, gaping at where the Other Guy was pummelling a handful of einherjar who had rallied together to try and fight him. Nick shook his head at their idiocy and stepped carefully around the bodies to check on Thor.

“You alright?” He asked.

Thor glanced at him, but his eyes were inexorably drawn back to the Other Guy. “I am fine.” He confirmed vaguely. Nick thought he could see a scratch on Thor’s face, but otherwise he wasn’t favouring any limbs or wincing when he moved, so Nick was prepared to accept Thor’s self-assessment. “The High Duke…” He began, but didn’t seem to know how to finish.

“Yeah.” Nick confirmed anyway.

Then, abruptly, Thor laughed. “He is a mighty warrior indeed!” He exclaimed brightly. “Why did he not break you out of your cells himself?!”

“Sometimes he can’t tell friend from foe. He was worried about us.” Nick explained simply.

Thor nodded. “Ah, it is much like the berserker rage, then. We have a special group of warriors who can trigger that state in themselves, and they are considered some of the finest warriors in all of Asgard.” He explained.

Nick privately thought that he wouldn’t want a whole unit of people like Bruce. It would be very hard to integrate a unit like that into a battle unless you were _only_ using them, and no one else. And even then, the chances of them turning on each other once there were no more enemies left made it seem like a bad idea all round. Before Thor could say anymore, however, the reinforcements reached them, with Odin right behind them. He took one look at the Other Guy tearing through his men like they were tissue paper and stopped walking.

Then he slammed the butt of his spear into the ground, and the whole street shook with the force of the impact. All the einherjar froze in place, standing absolutely still. Even Sif stopped dead, nervousness visible on her face beneath her defiance. The Other Guy whipped around, searching for the source of the tremor, and found Odin. He bared his teeth in a threatening rictus and growled. Odin, remarkably, stood his ground.

“Father-!” Thor called, half pleading, half warning.

He was too late.

The Other Guy launched himself at Odin with a roar, his footsteps as he pounded down the street shaking everything almost as much as Odin’s spear had. “No!” Thor cried, rushing to intercept the Other Guy. Cursing himself for not realising that of course Thor would try to defend his father, Nick tried to grab him and hold him back, but missed him by scant inches.

“Thor!” Jane yelled, her fear for the man ringing loud and clear in her voice.

The Other Guy didn’t even look around. One minute Thor was racing forwards to defend his father, the next he was flying through the air. He crashed into a wall and slumped at the base of it, little pieces of rubble raining down on him. Jane let out a wordless, anguished cry and ran to him, Darcy only a few steps behind, looking pained.

The einherjar closed ranks in front of their Emperor, but they might as well have been little more than wasps, for all the effect they had on the Other Guy. He swatted at them, stamped on them, and roared his frustration at their persistent attempts to hinder him to the heavens.

“Bruce…” Nick looked over at Darcy in surprise. He hadn’t realised that she wasn’t following Jane to check on Thor, but instead she had been coming closer to the Other Guy. “Bruce!” She called again, and Nick was on the verge of reprimanding her for actively _trying_ to catch the Other Guy’s attention, when the Other Guy looked around at them.

There was a moment where Nick wasn’t sure whether he’d live to see tomorrow or not, but the Other Guy didn’t attack them. He did swat a couple more einherjar, but his attention was primarily focused on Darcy, and he looked almost confused.

Darcy smiled, a little tremulous, but far less scared than Nick thought she ought to be. Of course, she wouldn’t see it that way. The Other Guy liked her, apparently, so she probably had less to fear than anybody else there. “You’ll be upset later if you hurt him.” Darcy told him, rueful but sincere, and Nick was a little impressed, given how vehemently she disliked Odin. It might have made him feel a little uncomfortably fond of her, seeing evidence of just how kind she could be to those she cared for.

Unfortunately, her plea did not affect the Other Guy the same way. He scoffed at her, then swung around to glare at Odin. The last few brave einherjar still attempting to bring him down were pummelled into the ground, and then the Other Guy was on top of Odin. Odin’s spear flashed in the light as he drove it at the Other guy. It hit his stomach, but didn’t pierce his skin. The shockwave sent him stumbling, but that only made him angrier. Before Odin could recover from his first strike and attempt another, the Other Guy had picked him up in one hand and shook him violently.

“No!” Sif cried, but the Other Guy gave no sign he could hear her.

That might have been because Odin had just stabbed at him with his spear again, causing the Other Guy to drop him as the shockwave reverberated through his arm. The Other Guy roared at Odin’s prone form as the Emperor of Asgard tried to push himself up on one shaky arm. His other arm was keeping his spear levelled at the Other Guy. Unimpressed, the Other Guy grabbed the spear, catching hold of it and Odin’s forearm in one large fist, and yanked. Odin lurched into the air with his spear, and was then promptly slammed back into the ground with enough force to break bones.

The Other Guy didn’t stop there, however, and Odin was smashed into the ground three more times, and once more into the wall, before the Other Guy was satisfied. He dropped the heavily bleeding corpse – and there was no doubt in Nick’s mind that Odin was nothing more than a corpse now – and huffed in what sounded rather like vindictive satisfaction.

“Oh my god…” Darcy breathed.

Nick looked around at her, then beyond her to Sif, who looked horrified and angry and grief-stricken, and Jane, who was trying not to look at the Other Guy and instead fussing over Thor, although her hands were visibly shaking. There were no living einherjar left in the area at all, and with the lack of anyone to smash, the Other Guy was starting to look less green. Within a minute, Bruce was lying, naked and pale, amongst the corpses.

“We need to get out of here.” Nick announced. Without the Other Guy, any reinforcements would be much more capable of taking them all out, and now that they were guilty of killing the Emperor, Nick was fairly sure they wouldn’t even get a nice reprieve in prison before they were executed. Carefully he limped over to Bruce and hauled him up over his shoulder. “Darcy, help Jane with Thor.” He ordered, and Darcy blinked slowly at him before nodding and going to do as he’d said. “Sif, lead the way.” He added.

Sif’s expression of blank horror abruptly became a scowl. “I will not be party to your escape after you _murdered_ my _Emperor_!” She spat viciously.

“You already are.” Nick snapped back, causing her to recoil like he’d smacked her. “You’ve already committed treason to aid us. Do you want to go back and face the Empress after you enabled her husband’s murder? Or do you want to get the hell out of dodge before we’re _all_ killed for it?” He pressed.

Sif stared at him for a long moment, anger creeping onto her face in waves. “Fine!” She snapped , turning away from him. “It’s this way.”

* * *

Waking up after an Incident was never pleasant. Bruce ached all over, and the moment that registered, he felt a spike of panic. Forcing his breathing to steady, he tried to calm his mind to see if there were any memory fragments left to him. He remembered Nick being in danger, remembered deciding that he’d never forgive himself if he stood by and watched him get injured – _again_ – when he could have done something to prevent it. After that it was mostly just a blur of gold and red and green. He thought he remembered Darcy trying to talk to him, remembered feeling a sense of angry contempt for her words.

He needed to know if Darcy was okay. To that end, he opened his eyes and looked around. He was in a bed, looking up at large wooden beams supporting a low arched roof. There was rich orange sunlight spilling into the room around rough curtains, which meant it was probably either early morning or early evening.

“You’re awake.”

That was Nick’s voice. Bruce turned his head and saw that Nick had been seated on the other bed in the room, still fully dressed – unlike Bruce – with his legs crossed at the ankle and a book in his hand. He closed the book now, however, and swung his legs over the edge of the bed so his was sitting facing Bruce. There was a grim expression on his face.

“Is Darcy-” Bruce began, but he was unable to finish the question.

Nick’s eyebrow arched, and the amusement in his eyes let Bruce breathe easier. “You can’t hear her?” He asked dryly. Frowning, Bruce went quiet so he could listen. Distant enough that he couldn’t make out the words, he could hear two female voices, both raised in anger. One of them did sound enough like Darcy that it could be her.

“What…?” Bruce asked, then winced as he accidentally shifted and every muscle in his body screamed at him in protest. Nick obviously noticed, because he got up – his movements were stiff and careful, as if he, too, was suffering the after-effects of over-exertion – and crossed the room to stand at Bruce’s bedside.

“How much do you remember?” Nick asked as he picked a tankard up off the chest of drawers sitting between the two beds, and then sat on the edge of Bruce’s bed, torso twisted so that he was still facing Bruce. Bruce let Nick slide a hand under his head and lift it as he brought the tankard to his lips so that Bruce could drink before he answered. It turned out to be tea, rich with honey and lemon. Just the way Bruce always made it for himself, although the tea used was sharper and more bitter than Bruce’s preferred blend.

“Not much.” He admitted once he’d drunk a few sips. “I remember Darcy talking to me while I was-…” He shuddered and closed his eyes. “I don’t remember what she said, just that I- _he_ didn’t like it very much. I remember not wanting you to get hurt. I remember a lot of blood. And… an earthquake? I’m not sure…”

“She tried to talk you down.” Nick informed him, not looking at him as he put the tankard back on the chest of drawers. Bruce would never admit to how pathetically grateful he was that Nick stayed right where he was instead of returning to the other bed. His warmth was seeping through the sheets covering Bruce and it was more comforting and soothing to his various aches and pains than Bruce would ever acknowledge out loud.

Then Nick’s words fully registered. “She _what_?!”

“I thought she was crazy, too.” Nick acknowledged, but he was smiling faintly as he nodded, and the glance he shot Bruce was amused and warm enough to make Bruce a little uncomfortable. “Apparently you like her no matter what form you’re in.” He pointed out, and Bruce felt his cheeks grow hot with a mixture of embarrassment and shame. “In a similar vein…” Nick began, and Bruce was grateful for any change of topic. He didn’t like to dwell on his pointless feelings for Darcy. He’d long ago given up hope that they’d go away on their own, but still, if he ignored them long enough, maybe, eventually, they would fade. “I’m pretty sure you saved my life by letting the Other Guy out to play.” Nick concluded.

Which was really not the best change of topic to avoid thinking about pointless feelings for people so far out of his league they might as well be on a different planet. He shrugged awkwardly, about to make some remark to dismiss the idea, but before he could, Nick was leaning forwards to press his lips to Bruce’s.

Bruce went very still. He didn’t even dare to breathe until Nick had sat back up, looking down at him with a dryly amused quirk to his eyebrows. “Thank you.” He said, simple and a little bit smug, which seemed backwards, but Bruce’s brain wasn’t really working at full capacity in the wake of that kiss.

Nick had just _kissed him_.

“You- What are you- I don’t-” Bruce stammered.

“This really can’t be coming as a shock to you.” Nick responded, amusement fading into genuine incredulity, although it was tempered with a degree of affection. When Bruce just mouthed helplessly, Nick shook his head. “You _must_ have noticed that we were leaving space for you. You can _not_ be so deeply in denial that you missed _that_.”

Bruce blinked at him, then slowly managed to scrape some semblance of rational thought back together. “…I know that Darcy was hoping I would be your third, but… I thought you, at least, were smarter than that.” He pointed out dryly.

Nick rolled his eye. “You’re a stubborn man, Bruce.”

“I think that’s a case of the pot calling the kettle black.” Bruce retorted. Carefully and slowly, waiting for any sign from his body that it was too much, Bruce levered himself up into a semi-sitting position. Without needing to be asked, Nick leaned forwards and helped by lifting the pillow with him, so that he had something soft to lean back against.

“Probably.” Nick agreed as he was adjusting Bruce’s pillow for him. “But I’m starting to think Darcy out-stubborns the both of us.” He pointed out, and when Bruce made an exasperated sound of agreement, he smiled. “We’re not going to ask you to do anything you don’t want to do, Bruce, but…” Nick paused, some of the lightness of the atmosphere fading as his expression became more serious. “You’re the one we want.” He stated, in that firm no-arguments tone he usually saved for when he was giving orders. “You can say we’re stupid for it all you like, but it’s _always_ going to be you. The invitation to join us is standing. You can take it or leave it whenever you want.”

Bruce actually felt tears stinging at his eyes, but he blinked them away as he shook his head. “Don’t do that, don’t-” He began, pained.

“Don’t tell me what to do, Banner.” Nick retorted, light again, but still firm and unmoving. Bruce laughed a little wetly, and thankfully, before the conversation could continue and Bruce could get even more worked up, they were both distracted by the sound of something smashing deeper in the house.

The raised voices, which Bruce was only just now noticing hadn’t stopped their argument the whole time he and Nick had been talking, got louder. After a moment, they were loud enough for Bruce to hear what was being yelled. “-not even _listening_ to me!” That was Darcy, Bruce would know that particular refrain anywhere. Although when Darcy was yelling it at him, it was never with that much frustration and bitter rage. “I might as well be chanting nursery rhymes for all the attention you’re paying to the words coming out of my mouth!”

“I _am_ listening, but your _words_ do not change what _happened_! You _cannot_ think that we can just continue on as if everything is the same-!” For a moment, Bruce couldn’t figure out who that voice belonged to, but then he realised that, since he knew it wasn’t Jane, it must be Sif. He felt a sinking in his gut.

“I _DON’T_! And if you _were_ actually listening to me, you’d _know that_!” Darcy shot back. “Look- No, you know what?! Never mind! I’m done! You wanna run around playing the patriotic moron? Be my fucking guest. But I swear, if you come _anywhere_ near Bruce, you won’t have to worry about the Other Guy because I will kill you myself!”

“ _How_ can you defend him when-?!” Sif began, but the rest of her sentence was cut off by the sound of a door slamming and footsteps stomping angrily up stairs.

A moment later, Darcy stepped into the bedroom and slammed that door behind her, too. She took one look at their faces, and grimaced. “You heard that, huh?” She asked, tone dry but without a trace of embarrassment.

“I think there might have been a few people on the Southern Continent that didn’t.” Nick offered, in his usual deadpan humour.

“Yeah, well, there’s at least one person in _Asgard_ who didn’t hear it, too.” Darcy spat, starting to pace. Bruce was just about to ask the question burning on the tip of his tongue, when Darcy suddenly burst into speech, her tone mocking and her face pulled into an expression of disgust. “‘Oh, berserker warriors are famous in Asgard! We celebrate their abilities! Oh, people with battle-sickness are revered in Asgard! We show them respect!’ _Yeah_ , right up until it’s not _convenient_ for them anymore, and then you’re worse than the scum on the bottom of their boots, apparently!”

“Sif is still upset, then?” Nick asked wearily.

“Oh my _god_ , that is such an understatement!” Darcy responded. “ _Yes_ , she’s still suggesting we murder Bruce in his fucking sleep like she _wasn’t_ helping to break him out of prison because she thought he _didn’t_ deserve to die half a day ago.”

“Darcy.” Bruce interrupted when it looked like Darcy was about to go on another rant. She stopped – would wonders never cease – and looked at him with a hint of an apologetic grimace on her face. “What did I do?” He asked quietly.

“You smashed Odin.”

“You killed the Emperor.”

Bruce closed his eyes and wished, just for a moment, that either one of them had thought to be a little more careful when dropping something like that on him. But then he realised that if they’d beaten around the bush, it would have only wound him up even more. He’d killed the Emperor of Asgard. That wasn’t something you could ease into. In all likelihood, he’d started a war, a war Ferronia really couldn’t afford to fight right now, and he couldn’t even blame it all on the Other Guy. He hadn’t been stabbed or injured or startled into letting the transformation rip through him. He’d chosen to let the Other Guy out, to protect Nick.

He almost wanted to cry, but he was too tired – weary down to his very bones – to muster up the energy for it. Unlike Darcy, he really didn’t blame Sif for wanting him dead. And maybe, just _maybe_ , if he offered himself up to Asgardian justice, Ferronia – and Tony and Darcy – wouldn’t have to pay to clean up his mess. “Well,” He started, and then had to stop and catch his breath as he pushed himself up into a fully upright position, “I can’t hide up here forever.”

“What do you mean? Bruce, stop. Get back into bed, you need to _rest_.” Darcy protested, moving forward as if she wanted to physically push him back down.

Bruce ignored her. He swung his legs out of bed, and only then noticed that someone had dressed him in lose, soft trousers. Carefully, he wobbled onto his feet and assessed his state of health. Getting down the stairs without falling over would be tricky, but he thought he could manage it. He started for the door. “Bruce, you should get _some_ of your strength back before we try to deal with this clusterfuck.” Nick advised.

That ‘we’ felt like a knife to Bruce’s heart. That Nick wasn’t condemning him for starting a war, was actually willing to stand with him, felt like the cruellest sort of kindness. There weren’t words to express everything that did to him, but he knew he was grateful. He didn’t deserve it in the least, but he was glad to have had even just a taste of that kind of love. He stopped at the door and looked back, glancing between the two of them, and he couldn’t help but smile. It was pained and helpless and full of everything he’d never dared express before. “Tell Tony I’m sorry, okay?” He requested.

“Whoa, _what_?!”

“Hold the fuck up.”

Bruce had intended to leave the room before either of them could get their bearings, but he had obviously underestimated Darcy’s ability to roll with the punches. The fact that every shuffling step seemed to take him an age right now didn’t help either. Before he could get the door open more than a few inches, Darcy was right beside him, slamming the door shut again with palm flat against the wood. And she was glaring at him. A glance at Nick showed that he didn’t look particularly impressed, either. “What the hell do you have to be sorry to Dad for?!” Darcy demanded, insinuating herself between Bruce and the door and forcing him to take a step back.

“For starting a war?” Bruce suggested, bringing a hand up to rub at his face.

“You know, for a genius, you can be so dumb.” Darcy complained. “I mean, my gods, do you really think Dad would be _upset_ that you smashed Odin? He’d throw you a party! And name a national holiday in your honour! And probably try to crown you, since he’s already made you a High Duke!” She exclaimed, throwing a hand in the air. The other was still pressed firmly against the door, as if she suspected Bruce might try to sneak past her while she was ranting.

Bruce shook his head. “I put Ferronia in danger. Tony’s already fighting one war, he knows full well we can’t _afford_ another one.”

“That’s true.” Nick acknowledged. Darcy made an indignant noise, but Nick went on before she could interrupt. “But you’re not the one that started this war, Bruce. Odin did that when he _imprisoned_ and planned to _execute_ the High Princess and heir to the throne of Ferronia.” He paused a moment to let that sink in. Bruce wanted to argue, but he had to admit that Nick wasn’t wrong. “Imagine what Odin would have done had _Tony_ imprisoned _Thor_ when he came to visit for the wedding. Can you imagine Odin doing anything less than demanding Tony’s head on a stick and his kingdom on a silver platter?”

Bruce grimaced in frustration. “No.” He acknowledged. “But I shouldn’t have-”

“Oh for-!” Darcy began

“Darcy.” Nick interrupted, and to Bruce’s shock, Darcy actually stopped, although she did give them both a mutinous look. Nick ignored it and turned to Bruce, levelling him with a deeply unimpressed look that made Bruce wonder if Darcy wouldn’t have been the better option to argue with. “Shouldn’t have what?” Nick wondered. “Killed the man threatening your High Princess’s life? Killed the man who unlawfully imprisoned foreign dignitaries? Killed the man who would have ordered _your_ death if given the chance? What _exactly_ should you not have done, Bruce?”

“I shouldn’t have killed the Emperor of an allied kingdom!” Bruce exclaimed, then immediately bit back the frustration and looked away before it got the best of him and he let the Other Guy out _again_. He wondered with bitter idleness whether it was even possible for him to transform again so soon after the last time. He didn’t really want to find out.

“Bruce!” Darcy cried in deep exasperation. “He _imprisoned us_. He wasn’t an ally anymore!”

“She’s right.” Nick confirmed before Bruce could argue. “Asgard has no right to condemn you for this, whether _you_ do or not.” He added, and Bruce gritted his teeth against his frustration. Nick had a way of forcing Bruce to put his personal feelings to one side by refusing to either accept or dismiss them, and then using logic to make Bruce consider things from his point of view. It was deeply annoying only because he was right so much of the time. “They even,” Nick went on, putting a little more weight to his words, “have laws about just how much responsibility can be placed on a warrior for their actions while in a berserker rage. Even _if_ you wanted to submit to their justice, which you don’t have to and shouldn’t even be considering, you would have a good chance of not being punished for it.”

“Sif clearly doesn’t share your opinion.” Bruce pointed out.

Darcy let out a soft exclamation of incredulous exasperation, and turned away, running a hand through her hair in a manner very reminiscent of Tony. Nick was slightly better at keeping a level head, although he did roll his eyes. “Sif is projecting her own guilt about what transpired onto you, because you are the easy target, and she cannot accept that she is partially culpable in Odin’s death.”

“It wasn’t like she and Thor were breaking us out so that we could assassinate the Emperor.” Bruce pointed out, fighting for calm. “For the gods’ sake, we’re talking about Thor’s _father_. We can’t just… shrug that off.”

“They were breaking us out because they had already decided that Odin was out of line and they would rather stand with us than against us. It is not your fault, nor ours, that they did not fully anticipate the results of their actions.” Nick insisted, voice hard.

“It’s not like we’re saying they shouldn’t be upset.” Darcy interjected, having scraped together some composure. “I would sure as hell be upset if someone from Asgard killed Dad. But I wouldn’t _blame them_ if it was only because Dad had turned into a paranoid maniac and was locking up innocent people and sentencing them to death without a trial!”

“But-” Bruce began.

“Enough with the pity-party!” Darcy burst out, unable to contain it anymore. Nick closed his eyes like he was praying for patience. “You are _not_ a _bad man_ , Bruce. You are _not_ a pathological killer. You _aren’t_ ruled by your anger. You are _not your father_!” Bruce flinched despite his every effort not to, and it seemed to take Darcy a little aback. She gave him an apologetic look, but it wasn’t enough to make her stop. “Maybe it would have been better if you hadn’t killed Odin. Personally, I’m not going to weep at the guy’s funeral, but… I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t killed him. Neither do you. Those what-ifs and should-have-beens will drive you nuts if you let them. What’s done is done. Move forward. _Live_ your gods damned life for once, instead of hiding from it _in case_ something goes wrong!”

Bruce let out a shaky breath as he absorbed that. He managed a wry little smile. “We’re not talking about Odin anymore, are we?” He asked. Darcy bit her lip, looking off to the side in a slightly abashed acknowledgement.

Before he could try and figure out what to say to that, there was a tentative knock at the door. Darcy looked startled, and even Nick looked a little surprised, but then Darcy’s expression morphed into stubborn anger and she stomped across the room to wrench the door open to reveal Thor, his fist raised in preparation to knock again. In his other hand, he was holding a tray bearing three plates of roast meat and vegetables. He looked like he’d aged a decade in the last day, his expression heavy with grief and sorrow.

“Thor?” Darcy asked in surprise.

Thor tried for a smile. It didn’t work in the slightest. “I gathered the High Duke-” He glanced over at Bruce but couldn’t meet his gaze and immediately looked back at Darcy. “-was awake from the raised voices. You said he would need to eat once he woke, so.” He gestured at the tray.

“Oh. Thank you.” Darcy said, evidently unsure how to react. Thor took her thanks as tacit permission to enter the room, and brought the tray over to the chest of drawers, where he placed it next to the still half full mug of tea.

“I have spoken to Sif, and she has promised to guide the four of you out of Asgard and back to your home.” Thor continued, not looking at any of them. “I… cannot go with you. I must return to the palace and… speak with Mother about what happens now. I know that… I cannot take the throne, after…” He trailed off, shoulders hunching up as he fiddled with the tray to keep his hands occupied. Bruce couldn’t help but notice that they were shaking slightly. Thor drew in a breath and strengthened his resolve. “But I must make sure Asgard is taken care of.” He declared firmly.

“I don’t trust her not to try and kill Bruce.” Darcy pointed out.

Thor ducked his head. “I have spoken with her.” He assured Darcy. “I cannot-… He was my _Father_ , and I loved him, but I do not think he was right to treat you all the way he did. I did what I thought was right, and…” Thor closed his eyes, visibly pained by his words. “I do not regret helping you, so much as not doing it very well.” He concluded thickly. After a long moment of silence, where none of them seemed to know how to react, he went on. “Father fell in battle, and that- That is the way he would have wished to go.”

“Sif doesn’t agree with you.” Nick interjected, voice as gentle as it ever got with strangers, which wasn’t very.

“Above all else, Sif is loyal.” Thor replied. “She may not agree with me, but she still considers me her Imperator, and she will acquiesce to my wishes, in this. I wish for the four of you to be returned home safely, so this she will do. For me, if not for you.”

“Thank you.” Darcy said. Thor just nodded and headed for the door.

“Thor?” Bruce called, because his conscience wasn’t going to let him get away with watching Thor leave without at least trying to make amends. Thor stopped so abruptly it was almost a flinch, and turned to look at Bruce. Bruce couldn’t help but notice that even now, Thor’s was looking a little to the side of him, rather than directly at him. “I know it’s… not worth very much, but… I’m sorry. I didn’t- I didn’t want this to happen.”

At that, Thor did manage to meet his gaze, though only for a moment. Then his eyes dropped to the floor, and he nodded. “I know.” He said quietly. “And it is worth far more than you think, High Duke. My father was not good to you and yours, and yet you still feel remorse for killing him. That is… a great gift, and I thank you.” Thor announced. Then he bowed shallowly to Bruce, turned on his heel, and left at a fast enough clip that it was obvious he was running away from the conversation.

Bruce shuffled back to the bed so that he could sit down and bury his face in his hands. He didn’t want to admit that he was crying, but he had a feeling that Darcy and Nick would know anyway. Sure enough, a moment later, he felt the bed dip beside him, and Darcy wrapped an arm around his shoulders, pressing her side against his. A large, warm hand settled on his knee, and Bruce wanted to acknowledge it somehow, but he couldn’t bring himself to move his hands and let them see the tears on his cheeks. Darcy did it for him, her thinner fingers twining between Nick’s where they rested on Bruce’s leg.

* * *

The journey to Ferronia took longer than Sif would have liked. Of course, she would have preferred not to spend another minute in the company of her Emperor’s murderer, but she was honour bound to complete the task Thor had given her. His grief-stricken acceptance and forgiveness of High Duke Banner made her feel mildly abashed, but not enough to quell her bitterness and resentment. While the High Duke’s valet – not that Sif believed that anymore, after the way he’d so seamlessly taken command when Thor had been knocked out – seemed weary but accepting of her attitude, The High Princess was clearly still angry at her. This left the whole group stewing in the tension that sparked between them.

Which left Jane, who didn’t seem to know what to do with the powder keg of volatile emotions around her. “It’s usually me that gets angry and doesn’t know when to let go of things.” She admitted to Sif one evening as they trekked through sparse woodland. The others had fallen behind because the valet – Nick, Sif thought she heard Darcy call him – was injured and his pace was just slower by necessity. “I’ve never seen Darcy hold a grudge this long before, but she’s… kind of over-protective of Bruce. Especially lately.”

“They are… involved, the three of them. Aren’t they?” Sif had asked.

“Sort of?” Jane hedged. “I know Darcy and Nick are… committed to each other and Bruce, but Bruce… doesn’t trust himself with a relationship. He seems… different now, though.” She shrugged. “I don’t know, too much has been going on for me to worry about someone else’s love-life, you know?”

Sif nodded, almost managing a laugh. She really didn’t know what to make of this woman, who had so enchanted Thor. She had always thought that, eventually, she and Thor would be wed. The idea of marriage honestly made her bristle, not because she did not desire it, precisely, but because she knew it was _expected_ of her, and that once she had ‘settled down’ from her ‘rebellious youth’ she would stop fighting and become the future Empress everyone expected. Not that she had anything less than the utmost respect for Empress Frigga, but politics and subterfuge and running the Imperial Household was not the life Sif had ever wanted for herself. Neither was domesticity or child-rearing, which would again be expected of her once she married.

But if she had to marry, Thor was one she could see herself being happy with. He knew her and respected her – she had made damn sure of that a long time ago – and would not expect her to be something she wasn’t. She was slightly disappointed to know he had fallen head over heels for this woman, but slightly relieved that she wouldn’t be expected to marry any time soon, and slightly angry that she knew the courts would still gossip about her love-life, or lack thereof. Over all, it was a tangled knot that she just didn’t have time to sort out at the moment.

Their journey took them on a relatively direct route through the countryside, heading south to the mountains. That was the only part of their journey Sif wasn’t confident about. The only route into Ferronia was through the excavated halls deep within the mountains, which were guarded as any outpost of Asgard would be. Getting through unnoticed would be difficult, or downright impossible if Thor hadn’t managed to sway Empress Frigga into letting the High Princess and her party pass.

It turned out she needn’t have worried.

They approached the entrance to the underground halls as if they were common travellers, and made it through the first gate without a problem. Then, a long, elaborately decorated tunnel later, they came out into a grand entrance hall. There were several doors and staircases leading off to the sides, but also a large tunnel leading deeper into the mountain. Sif had expected it to be mostly empty, save for the guards, but there were two warriors fighting – no, Sif realised a moment later, only sparring – in the middle of the hall, with another young man leaning against one of the pillars, watching them with a book lying abandoned in his lap.

“ _Peter_?!”

The young man on the floor looked around so sharply at the High Princess’s bewildered shout that Sif was surprised he didn’t injure himself. “Darcy! You’re okay!” He cried, scrambling up onto his feet and darting across the room towards them. High Princess Darcy rushed to meet him, and they collided in a tight hug. The clash of steel on steel stopped, along with the light-hearted banter the two men had been sharing.

One of them, Sif noticed, was wearing a red blindfold, and the other a red executioner’s mask. The blindfolded one reached out and brushed a hand along his companions arm. “I’m going to let Their Majesties know they’ve arrived.” He said quietly.

“I can do it, I’ll be faster.” The other said at once.

The blindfolded one shook his head, with a small knowing smile. “No, you should stay with Peter.” He insisted, then turned and walked away without waiting for a response.

The masked man looked after him for a moment, his consternation visible in his body language, before he shrugged and bounced over to the embracing pair in the middle of the room. “Aw, yeay! Group hug!” He cheered, and wrapped his arms around both of them.

“Um… who are you? Peter? Who is he?” High Princess Darcy asked.

“Oh, this is Wade. He’s- um… He rescued me.” Peter stammered, half heartedly trying to draw himself out of the hug to do the introductions properly, but giving up easily when Wade’s arms made that impossible. “Wade, this is my sister, Darcy.”

“Got that, baby boy.” Wade replied, finally letting them go.

High Princess Darcy raised her eyebrows, opening her mouth with a glint in her eyes, but then she stalled. Sif strongly suspected that what she said next was not what she’d been planning to say originally. “I thought Matt was going to rescue you.”

High Prince Peter ducked his head, looking both pleased and embarrassed as he scrubbed a hand through his hair. “He was, Wade just, uh… got there first, I guess. It was kind of compli-…” He trailed off, going slack-jawed as his gaze moved past the High Princess and Sif and settled on – Sif glanced behind her, following his gaze – the valet, Nick. “ _Lord-Navarch Fury_?!” High Prince Peter yelped.

“Just Navarch Fury now.” Nick corrected mildly. “I’m no Lord of Aegis anymore.”

“Whoa, wait! Isn’t that the guy Bucky _killed_?!” Wade yelped, pointing dramatically at Navarch Fury. “It is, isn’t it? _How_ are you alive? That’s like- Did someone bring you back? That’s gotta be it. No way Bucky actually left you alive.”

For the first time, Sif saw Navarch Fury’s composure slip a little. He looked stunned. Then he closed his eyes in resignation and brought a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Of course it was Commodore Barnes. That’s why Lord-Admiral Rogers decided to up and leave when Aegis needed him.” He muttered.

“But you were _dead_!” High Prince Peter yelped.

“That’s what I wanted Thanos to believe, which meant it was what everyone else had to believe. Yes.” Navarch Fury confirmed. “I was planning to reveal myself to your family once I had recovered from my injuries, but then Darcy decided to drag us off to Asgard.”

“You make it sound like it’s all my fault.” High Princess Darcy complained.

“It kind of was.” High Duke Banner pointed out sheepishly.

The High Princess considered that, then nodded. “Yeah, you’re right.” The High Duke merely snorted at her and shook his head. Sif tried not to bristle at their conversation, but she was pretty sure she failed. Luckily for Sif, the conversation was put to a halt when High King Anthony came rushing out of a stairwell. “Dad!” High Princess Darcy cried, and flung herself at him.

Queen Virginia was only a few paces behind High King Anthony, and she immediately wrapped herself around both of them. “Peter.” She called in invitation, and the High Prince willingly joined the hug, beaming.

“This is adorable, I think I’m tearing up a li’l bit.” Wade sniffed dramatically.

Sif wasn’t listening. Loki – she supposed he was King Loki now, and oh, that rankled – had followed his spouses out of the stairwell and approached the little knot of people. He didn’t join the hug, but he reached between the tangle of arms to run a hand over High Princess’ Darcy’s hair. Sif studied him, and decided that the difference she was seeing in him wasn’t physical – although his hair was shorter than she remembered it and it made him look years younger – but came from a lightness and sense of ease about him that had been absent for decades before his marriage.

Loki smiled gently – more gently than Sif had honestly thought him capable, but then he always was a magnificent actor – at the High Princess, and she grinned back. It was a wide, mischievous and slightly wicked grin that, Sif realised with an abrupt chill, she had learnt from Loki. “Welcome home, Darcy.” Loki said.

“It’s good to be home.” High Princess Darcy agreed, nestling her head into her step-mother’s shoulder and tightening her arms around her father.

High King Anthony pressed a kiss to the top of her head, then disentangled an arm to wrap it around Loki and drag him into the hug. “Stop hovering, idiot.”

“Ack! Let me _go_ , Tony!” Loki protested.

“Nope.” High King Anthony denied lightly.

“Nope.” High Princess Darcy agreed, freeing one of her own arms to add it to the limbs holding Loki in place. Loki rolled his eyes, but submitted to the affection all the same. After a few minutes, the High Princess spoke up again. “Not that I’m not really, really glad to see you guys, but what are you doing here?”

“The Empress sent us a letter.” Queen Virginia answered, carefully disentangling herself, and pulling Loki with her. He shot her a grateful look and she smirked at him prettily in response.

“Her Imperial Majesty wrote to you?” Sif couldn’t help but ask.

The family unit turned as one, and only then seemed to remember that anyone other than the five of them were even in the room. As Sif predicted, the moment Loki’s eyes landed on her, his expression went cold and hard. “Sif.” He greeted, like her name tasted bad on his tongue.

Sif didn’t grace him with a response. She didn’t really get a chance, because in the same moment that Loki saw her, High King Anthony saw Navarch Fury. “ _Fury_?! I thought you were _dead_!” He yelped.

Navarch Fury sighed in a very long-suffering manner. “Evidently not.” He retorted, spreading his arms as if to show off just how alive he was.

“No, fuck you.” High King Anthony burst out angrily, startling Sif and Navarch Fury both. “You don’t get to be flippant about this. Phil mourned you, and you just left him your mess to clean up while you had a vacation in Asgard? _Skye_ mourned you, you asshole. She cried for you. You don’t get to treat this like you were the one in the right!”

High Princess Darcy winced, and High Duke Banner looked down to one side with a rueful grimace on his face. Navarch Fury met the High King glare for glare and didn’t back down one inch. “I’m sorry that I caused them pain. Is that what you want to hear?” He asked darkly. “Of course I am. They’re- They were the closest thing I’d ever had to a family. Of course I care. But I care about Aegis _more_ , because it’s _my responsibility_ to care about Aegis. Coulson and Skye know that often people don’t survive our line of work. That sometimes secrets need to be kept to keep people safe. They know that _intimately_. It was necessary, and I do not regret it.” He stated firmly.

High King Anthony didn’t look very impressed by that, but he also didn’t seem to be able to find anything more to argue about. Loki, on the other hand, looked at Navarch Fury through sharply narrowed eyes. “They _were_ the closest thing to a family?” He questioned silkily. “Past tense?”

Navarch Fury’s lips twitched into a smile. “Yes. Past tense.”

“So, um, Dad? I have something to tell you.” High Princess Darcy jumped in, grinning irrepressibly.

There was a beat of silence as High King Anthony gaped at her, realisation dawning. From her place next to Sif, Jane tipped her head back and muttered something that was either a prayer or a curse. “No…!” The High King exclaimed, looking from his daughter to Navarch Fury and back again. “You’re not-!”

“We are.” Darcy nodded. “We won Bruce over.” She added, actually bouncing on the spot a little. “Didn’t we?” She asked, looking at Navarch Fury and the High Duke.

High King Anthony looked at High Duke Banner with his eyebrow raised, and the High Duke shrugged, smiling helplessly. “They did. They’re stupid and stubborn and I still think this is a bad idea, but… I realised we were already a triad, I just didn’t want to admit it. I can’t say no to them, it seems.” He admitted.

“Bad ideas are just good ideas in disguise, anyway.” High King Anthony announced, pulling the High Princess into a one-armed hug. The man in the executioner’s mask snorted and started giggling, and a moment later High Prince Peter joined in, hands over his face as he laughed. It startled Sif a little to notice that the blindfolded man had evidently returned with the royal family, because he was standing a little behind the High Prince, smiling indulgently. He must have moved near silently not to catch Sif’s attention, even peripherally. She made a note that he was dangerous and capable of sneaking up on her, but then returned her attention to the royal family.

High King Anthony was shooting his son a baffled look, but he shook his head and dismissed it when High Prince Peter just waved him off. “Congrats, kiddo.” He said to the High Princess, who beamed up at him, nearly glowing with happiness.

“Forgive my interruption-” Sif began, because whether or not she liked these people, they were royalty and she would respect them as such. “-but what exactly did Her Imperial Majesty write to you about?”

“Oh, right. She told us that Odin went nuts and locked everyone up, so you and Thor broke them out, and Bruce smashed Odin. That’s about the summary of it, right?” High King Anthony checked, and his daughter nodded. “Thor’s coronation has been postponed until things settle down, but he’s already named Frigga regent and given her full authority to rule in his stead, and she’s offered to ally with us against Thanos, which is nice.”

Sif’s jaw fell open. “She has forgiven you for one of your nobles killing her husband?!” She demanded incredulously.

“Odin stepped _way_ out of line first.” High King Anthony retorted coldly. “It’s a very good thing that Frigga acknowledges that, because otherwise…” He trailed off ominously, jaw set and eyes hard as he stared her down.

Even though she knew it was a lost cause before she even spoke, Sif rounded on Loki. “And what of you? You just _accept_ this?”

“Personally, I think it’s good riddance.” Loki informed her with cool indifference.

“He’s your father and Emperor, and-” Sif began, outraged. She shouldn’t be surprised, she knew she shouldn’t, but Loki had a way of getting under her skin like no one else. He likely did it on purpose, but she could never prove it.

“He’s _not_ my father.” Loki spat out. Wordlessly, Queen Virginia stepped up to his side and curled her hand around his elbow in a quietly supportive, steadying gesture. Loki glanced at her and nodded to her minutely, before turning back to Sif with an unpleasant smile. “And he is no longer my Emperor. I have a new family, and a new kingdom, and I must say I do prefer it to the old one.” He declared smugly.

“That’s kind of damning with faint praise, though.” High King Anthony interjected.

“Tony.” Queen Virginia reprimanded, while Loki snickered.

“Hey, yeah, Thor’s cool.” High Princess Darcy protested, poking her father in the ribs. “He broke us out of jail and everything. And he’s totally smitten with Jane, so he obviously has good taste.” Jane went pink and ducked her head, but she was obviously smiling. Sif tried not to feel too bitter about that, because she had found during their journey that she did actually like Jane.

Loki was looking at her with amused pity, and it made Sif want to punch him. “You know, I had always believed Thor when he swore you were no longer a traitor to Asgard, for he has always known you best, but now I begin to wonder, if you can be so callous about your own father’s death!” She spat.

“He’s not my father.” Loki repeated, the mirth fading from his eyes and leaving only furious disgust behind. It was much more satisfying. “And I have never betrayed Asgard, little though she paid me back for my loyalty.”

Sif felt her anger and disbelief choking her until it was a struggle to get the words out. “So the fact that Thanos even has the Tesseract in his possession at all had nothing to do with you, did it?” She snarled, hands clenching into fists around thin air. How she wished she had a blade in hand right now, but she was highly aware of the beast in his human skin behind her, and she really didn’t like her chances if she turned this confrontation physical.

“Thanos _used me_.” Loki hissed, leaning forwards towards her as if he wanted to get in her face, but he didn’t step away from Queen Virginia. “He crawled into my head and _twisted_ until he could get what he wanted out of me. Don’t you _dare_ suggest that I would _ever_ aid that monster willingly.”

“You certainly didn’t seem like you were acting under duress.” Sif spat at him.

“Well, uh… he wouldn’t?” High Prince Peter interjected. Sif turned to stare at him, and she knew her expression was too challenging to be polite, but she didn’t care anymore. “I mean, if Thanos was using that, uh, Sceptre thing, then he could do… pretty much whatever he wanted to Loki’s head. Not irreversibly, because the amulet stores a memory of anything that’s changed or altered.” He glanced at the man in the executioner’s mask, then stepped closer to him and took his hand in his own. “I’ve used it, I know what it can do.” He admitted.

Sif didn’t know what the sudden lurch of emotion in her chest was, but it wasn’t pleasant. It might have been anger, or fear, or possibly dread. “You have used the Sceptre?”

“Yeah.” High Prince Peter confirmed. “And I never want to touch it again.” He added, which definitely made Sif feel a little better. The blindfolded man put a hand on his shoulder, squeezing in comfort, and the High Prince lifted his own hand to cover it gratefully.

“Gotta agree with you there, baby boy. That thing’s just plain horrible.” The man in the mask agreed with a little shudder. “But I’m kind of confused. Steve knew something was wrong with Bucky the moment he realised who he was. Why would Loki be different?”

“With Bucky, he took everything.” High Prince Peter replied. “But I don’t think he needed to.”

“No.” Loki agreed.

Sif looked at them all, this family spread out before her, and the way Loki was tangled inexorably in their midst. The way Queen Virginia remained by his side, the way High King Anthony was turned slightly towards Loki. “None of this is a surprise to you.” She said to the High King.

He gave her a wide smile that looked perfectly insincere. “Loki told us the whole story after Peter was kidnapped. Took him a while to get the courage up, which was dumb, because pretty much none of it was his fault. And really, Asgard came out on top in the end, so I don’t see why you’re upset _at all_.”

“You trust him, then?” Sif asked, a touch disbelieving.

“Absolutely.” Queen Virginia interjected. Her smile was pretty and sharp and quietly threatening in a way that reminded Sif a little of Empress Frigga when she was really, really angry at someone.

“No question.” High King Anthony confirmed.

“Yup.” High Princess Darcy added from under her father’s arm.

“Yeah, of course.” High Prince Peter concurred, frowning at Sif as if it was most ridiculous question she could possibly have asked.

Loki was smiling, but to Sif’s surprise, he didn’t look smug. Just content and flattered and possibly even a little bit pleasantly surprised. It made him look, just for a moment, like the teenager he used to be, before he’d become wicked and jaded and cruel. Reluctantly, Sif backed down. She knew this was not a fight she would win, and her anger was fading into something tired and heavy anyway. “Then it is not my place to argue.” She sighed, only a little resentful.

“Damn right it’s not.” High King Anthony agreed.

Queen Virginia sighed in exasperation. “ _Tony_!”


	7. In Which There Is War

Going to war was not an easy venture. It was a full time occupation, and Pepper already had one of those. Thankfully, Tony was much better at helping her plan a war than he was at helping her run the Kingdom. Vengeance had always been a powerful motivator for Tony, and while it broke her heart a little to see him so sombre all the time, she was glad that he was taking the whole thing seriously. She wasn’t sure she could handle a flippant, devil-may-care Tony on top of everything else she was trying to handle.

And Tony was helping, but Pepper was pretty completely sure that one of them – probably Tony – and certainly their relationship wouldn’t have survived the added stress if it hadn’t been for Loki. He had told her and Tony, only a few days before Peter had been rescued, just how much he had lost to Thanos, and just how invested he was in stopping the delusional ‘God-King’, and he still managed to keep his head – and his sense of humour – more in tact than anyone.

It had been five years ago that Loki had felt the first whispers of treason slipping into the back of his mind. He acknowledged, with a bitter smile, that he knew they wouldn’t have taken root if he hadn’t already been frustrated to the point of self-destruction with Asgard. With how he was belittled for his fascination with magic, for his lack of interest in fighting, for his twisted modes of thought, for his tricky, wicked sense of humour, for his ‘perverse’ sexual practices, for his irrepressibly curious nature. He’d been accused of jealousy where he only held concern, and spite where he only wished to help. By the time Thanos had reached him with the Sceptre – stretching the amulet’s capabilities to their maximum reach just to brush against the thoughts of someone in Asgard – Loki had been an explosion of frustration just waiting to happen.

The series of events that followed seemed to be a perfect example of how even the best of plans could go wrong out of sheer dumb luck. There had been a coup d’etat, staged by the King-Regent of Jotunheim, who turned out to be Loki’s birth father, along with a civil war between at least seven different factions in Alfheim, a deterioration in relations with Helheim, and a popular uprising in Vanaheim. Then Odin got near-fatally sick, several people tried to assassinate him, and when he woke up from a magically induced coma, he blamed it all on Loki.

Pepper could understand how he’d come to that conclusion, since Loki had had a hand in most of it, but she honestly couldn’t imagine Tony’s attitude being anything other than ‘shit, I messed up’ if Peter ever got it into his head to do something like that to Ferronia. Of course, she’d decided that Tony was the better father about ten minutes after meeting Odin. An opinion Tony had actually agreed with, which had told Pepper volumes about what Tony really thought of the Emperor of Asgard.

In the end, it had been Frigga who had noticed that Loki wasn’t behaving at all like himself. Or rather, that he was behaving like he would if he was trapped, backed into a corner and terrified out of his mind. He’d explained that he’d been aware of the foreign presence in his mind for most of the time, but still couldn’t quite stop himself. The best he’d been able to do was ramp up his emotions where Thanos had been expecting resistance, so that he would be reckless and far more likely to make mistakes. Frigga had noticed.

It had taken her a while, in which Loki had nearly been driven to despair that he _was_ going to wind up destroying Asgard, but in the end, she reached him in time. She’d set up a complex warding spell and tricked Loki into stepping into it, which immediately banished Thanos from his mind. Frigga had been relieved, and Thor had apparently tried to hug Loki a lot, but Odin had never managed to get over it.

He had seemed, after telling them the story with surprising eloquence for how emotionally charged it obviously was, to be expecting them to be less than impressed with him. Tony had put those fears to rest by blurting out ‘Gods, Loki, you, I knew you were dangerous, but…’ in a highly complimentary tone and kissing him, hard and dirty. Pepper had kissed him, too, after that, but her reassurances had been much wordier, finding the heart of Loki’s fear – that he would be condemned for not being ‘honourable’ enough, or not doing enough, or for defending himself at all and not making some noble self-sacrifice – and carefully, ruthlessly cleaning those old wounds out so that they could finally begin to heal.

With all that hanging over him, on top of his worry for Peter and Skye and his anger that Thanos was inciting another coup in Ferronia, Pepper had expected to be babysitting his volatility alongside Tony’s. But instead, Loki had pulled all his emotions in and used them to fuel his productivity. Pepper would get up in the mornings and find that supplies had been requisitioned, another unit sent off to the encampment on the south coast, awaiting transport that had already been arranged with Aegis. Loki was up with the sun, and staying up longer than she did, keeping everything moving as swiftly as possible.

And in all of that, he still found time to catch her off-guard with an invitation to walk with him and take a break. He still found time to spare in Tony’s labs, coaxing Tony away from his own feverish preparations and into more recreational pursuits. Some of which even occasionally included spellwork.

Then Thor arrived.

The arrival of the Asgardian army was an event that the entire city got behind. Once Peter had stolen the Sceptre from Thanos, the coup d’etat that High Duke Hammer had been trying to organise petered out, and the kingdom had fallen back into an almost united mindset surprisingly quickly. Pepper suspected Loki and his network of spies had something to do with that, but when she asked, he’d smiled, kissed her lightly, and told her to just accept it when good things happened. Coming from him, Pepper thought that was highly hypocritical, but she didn’t push.

There was an almost universal sense of outrage in the people that some arrogant brute from the Southern Continent had kidnapped their High Prince. That it had been done because what he was really aiming for was Asgard did not seem to be common knowledge. Instead, the general consensus was that, just like them, soon-to-be Emperor Thor – the details of Odin’s death were likewise not common knowledge, which Pepper actually thought was Tony’s doing as a thank-you to Bruce – was offended at the presumption of someone kidnapping his nephew.

The Asgardian army was a glittering golden column, bristling with spears and marching in perfect time as they approached the city. Most of them weren’t going to enter the city, just Thor and his honour guard, and the rest would camp outside the city until they and half of the royal guard left for the front lines at last. Pepper scanned them with a relatively experienced eye from where she was watching them approach from the city walls. She’d have to head back inside to meet Thor in a minute if she didn’t want to be late, but she wanted to get a good idea of what she had to work with before she started chipping in on plans.

After several units of what Darcy had started calling ‘einherjar’ – Loki informed her that that was their name in the original language of Asgard, but it was just as accurate to call them ‘soldiers’ – there came a series of more specialised units, each one a splotch of new colour in amongst the gold of the einherjar, and following them were several teams hauling heavy artillery. Pepper found herself leaning over the parapet, trying to get a better look at the banners each unit was flying and the weapons they were sporting.

“The silver and red ones are the Valkyries.” Loki’s voice beside her made her jump, and he smirked at her like that had been his intention. Pepper couldn’t help but notice that it didn’t quite reach his eyes this time. Still, she made a questioning noise, encouraging him to go on. “A brutally efficient all-female force instigated by Queen-Regent Freja, affectionately nicknamed the ‘choosers of the slain’ because if you see one coming at you in battle, you know you will not survive. It is highly elite and has a rather contentious relationship with the rest of the army. Sif is their current commander.”

“Skill set?” Pepper inquired.

“Mounted spearwomen, mostly. Though often highly proficient with larger varieties of sword, battle axe or morning star.” Loki informed her, then, smiling a little at her expectant look of curiosity, moved on to the next special unit. “The ones in the fur cloaks are the Völva. Battle-mages. There are a lot of nasty rumours about them dabbling in necromancy. I wouldn’t be surprised, but they are fierce in battle, so I don’t really care. Each one enchants their own weapon – usually a staff or a small blade – and armour – leathers, most commonly – to her own specifications.”

“Another all-female unit? I thought Odin didn’t think women were good for anything but domesticity.” Pepper queried, and Loki’s demeanour brightened a little at her obvious disdain for anything to do with Odin.

“This one was instigated by Queen-Regent Hela, and I rather think Odin has always been a little intimidated by her. He let her get away with far more than he’d ever stand for from any of the other Regents.” Loki informed her. “Mother once told me it was because she was the daughter of Odin’s ‘blood-brother’, whom I was named for. She holds a grudge for her father’s death, as far as I could tell. And it was the success of the Völva that made the formation of the Valkyrie unit possible at all.” He added.

Pepper nodded. “Why do royal families always have to be so complicated?” She asked wearily, and Loki chuckled.

“Admit it, you would be bored otherwise.” Loki teased, one eyebrow quirking upwards in challenge, and Pepper took a moment to bask in the lightness his good humour inspired in her.

“Yes, alright.” She agreed, in a tone of false reluctance. “What about those ones in the white… everything?” They were almost harder to look at than the einherjar, the way they gleamed in the sunlight.

“More battle-mages. These ones male, of course, and much more structured than the Völva. Archers, with a variety of enchanted arrowheads in their quivers, and all of them at least passable in swordsmanship as well, of course.” Loki explained easily, almost absently.

The army stamped to a halt below them. For a long, drawn-out moment, it remained there, a tableau of intimidatingly beautiful might, but then it broke up to begin setting up camp, and it became a swarming mass of golden ants. The small group that had led the procession broke away, approaching the city gates, and Pepper turned away from the view. “We should go if we want to get there before Thor does.”

It was a testament to how well Pepper had come to know Loki over the last several months that she even noticed that there was something slightly off about Loki’s expression as they descended from the walls. He caught her studying him as they made their way through the streets, people automatically getting out of their way in respect, but not pausing in their daily business. He shot her a questioning look, but Pepper didn’t really know where to begin, and simply shrugged, giving him one more concerned glance.

They did manage to reach the throne room before Thor and his entourage. It wasn’t like Tony to stand on ceremony like that and insist on receiving foreign dignitaries in the throne room, but in this instance, Pepper understood the impulse, even if she thought it was misplaced. Thor and Frigga had been nothing but diplomatic about the incident with Odin, and she really didn’t think that she and Tony had the right to be sore at them for something Odin had most certainly paid for. Still, Thor didn’t know that it wasn’t usual for Tony, so it wouldn’t do much harm.

Tony was already there, sitting sideways on his throne with his legs kicked up over one arm, and his head leaning back over the other so that he could talk to Darcy. They were both doing that rapid-fire information-dump babbling that Starks were so good at, talking over each other at points, but evidently still absorbing the information being shared. Darcy had been helping with the preparations for war, too, although her focus seemed to be on easing the strain of the more domestic organisation, which was slightly odd. Yes, she’d been trained for it from an early age, but she hadn’t shown more than a resigned sense of duty towards it before, but now she seemed half driven, and half genuinely eager.

In fact, Pepper caught, in the midst of a barrage of statistics about the various food industries, Tony asking about that. “-said the small game market has been suffering, is that something we need to worry about? And hey, why are you so worried about this? You’ve been weird since you got back from Asgard. Are you okay?”

“I don’t think so, but it’s something we need to keep an eye on. Speaking of food; did you know there’s actually been a noticeable spike in the castle’s consumption of honey since Loki got here. Like, _wow_. Anyway, I’m fine, okay? But you should have _seen_ Frigga, like oh my _gods,_ that woman is _hardcore_. Dad, I want to be Frigga when I grow up-”

“Okay, but what’s that got to do with-”

“-she’s so awesome at this shit. This shit being-”

“-why you’ve suddenly gotten all intense about running the kingdom-”

“-things like the blacksmiths and mages getting overworked, we ought to-”

“-and all those administration things? Yeah, we knew this would happen, we knew-”

“-recruit some more people, at least for the grunt work. Keep up, Dad, I already answered that question.”

“-we’d have to get some people on that. I’ll have JARVIS organise that. Or you can. And if you did I missed it, Darce.”

Darcy rolled her eyes. “Evidently. Frigga is the most Empress-y Empress to ever Empress, and I _want to be her when I grow up_ , okay? I am _absolutely_ going to master this running a kingdom – or several – thing if it means I can be half as awesome as she is.”

Tony paused to think about that for a moment. “…Are you asking me to conquer a kingdom for you? So you can be an Empress when you grow up?” He asked, grinning. Pepper had to hide her own smile behind her hand, and she could see the laughter in Loki’s eyes, even if he was better at masking his expression than her. Darcy snorted and – miracle of all miracles – dragged Tony back to the task at hand.

They weren’t the only ones in the throne room, either. Peter had joined them, because he was being stubborn about being included in as much of the planning and preparation as possible. His motivations, at least compared to Darcy’s, were a lot easier for Pepper to understand. He’d been held hostage for several weeks, he needed to know that the man who’d done that to him was going to be stopped. And as was the norm these days, wherever Peter was, Sir Murdock and Deadpool also were. That, she could also understand. They were both invested in protecting Peter, and one of them had failed once while the other had been party to putting him in danger. They were, in their own way, trying to atone for sins that Pepper – and Peter too, she knew – thought they had already paid for.

They were forewarned of Thor’s arrival by the echoing ring of footsteps outside. Tony and Darcy stopped their bickering and Loki tensed up as the doors were opened to admit Thor and half a dozen or so commanders of the Asgardian army. Tony did not rush to swing his legs down and stand up. “Imperator Thor.” He greeted once he was on his feet, and Pepper was glad to hear that the warmth in his voice wasn’t fake. She knew he was still angry about what had happened to Darcy, but it was important for them all to remember that Thor was not their enemy.

“High King Anthony.” Thor replied, nodding his head respectfully. “May I introduce my companions; Queen-Regent Hela of Helheim, Champion Heimdall, Guardian Sif, Guardian Tyr, Paladin Hogun, Paladin Fandral, and Berserker Volstagg.” He announced, gesturing to each of the others in turn.

Tony bowed properly to Hela – who returned the gesture with a smile that was startlingly cold for an expression that looked mostly genuine – but the rest of them only got polite nods to their respectful bows. “Thank you for coming.” He said, voice hard but sincere.

“Of course.” Thor dismissed the thanks , then actually managed a smile as he turned to Darcy. “And greetings to you, also, High Princess. It is good to see you well.” The honestly in Thor’s voice helped soothe some of Tony’s lingering irritation.

“You too, Thor.” Darcy replied, hopping down off the raised dais to give Thor a hug. Thor hugged her back tight enough to lift her off the floor for a moment, making her laugh. “By the way, Jane misses you, a lot. You should go see her soon.” She added.

At that, Thor did brighten, a lot of the weariness on his face fading for the first time since he’d arrived. “I shall. I have missed her a great deal, too.” He confirmed, and Darcy nodded as if this meant all was as it should be. She stepped back, and Thor turned to Loki. “Loki. Brother.” He greeted, expression fading into something fond but pained, hesitation in every line of his body. Pepper didn’t miss the way Loki was not relaxing at all. “Darcy told me you were faring well.”

“I am.” Loki confirmed.

Thor hesitated a moment longer, then threw caution to the winds and crossed the wide hall to embrace his brother. Loki stood stiff in his hold for long enough that it became awkward before he relented and hugged Thor back with a long-suffering roll of his eyes. Pepper smiled to herself and left the two brothers to their reunion, instead turning her attention to the other Asgardians, who were watching the imperial brothers with a mix of emotions visible on their faces. The dark-skinned Champion Heimdall, and the solemn-faced Paladin Hogun were both impassive, but Guardian Sif looked angry, the one-handed Guardian Tyr looked strained, and Paladin Fandral and Berserker Volstagg were smiling, the former far less kindly than the latter. Queen-Regent Hela was hard to read – and the magical formulae that had been inked across one half of her face in thin, tightly-packed lines were very distracting – but Pepper rather thought she looked amused.

“Welcome to Ferronia.” Pepper greeted them, and got a chorus of mostly polite replies. “I’m Queen Virginia, King Loki and High King Anthony’s wife.” She introduced herself with a friendly smile that became a lot sharper and more threatening when the blonde, cocky one – Paladin Fandral – barely concealed a snort. He was immediately elbowed by the large red-head beside him – Berserker Volstagg – but Pepper wasn’t in the mood to forgive rudeness from anyone from Asgard at the moment. “Did I say something that amuses you, Paladin Fandral?” She asked, sweet and mild.

Paladin Fandral cleared his throat. “No, Your Majesty.” He said in a slightly strained voice. Pepper was very sure it wasn’t strained because he was hiding remorse. He gave her a wide, charming grin that impressed her not even a little.

She gave him a long look, carefully bland, until his grin faltered into something more akin to a grimace. Then she very pointedly turned her attention away from him and onto the rest of the group. “JARVIS will direct you to your-”

“ _Only to you_!”

Pepper looked around in concern, and saw Loki glowering at Thor, hands clenched into fists at his sides. He caught her gaze, then looked over her shoulder to the Asgardians, and his expression immediately shuttered and went blank and cold. “What do you mean, Brother?” Thor pressed, oblivious to their audience.

“I mean, Thor, that _you_ may think it is of no consequence that I am not truly of imperial blood, but Odin most _certainly_ cared. A great deal.” Loki hissed, quiet, but not quiet enough. Pepper was torn between giving him support and clearing the Asgardians out of the room. Thankfully, Tony was there. She glanced over at him, and he nodded to show he’d understood, bounding over to Loki and stopping carefully before touching him. Sometimes Loki could be prickly about that.

Turning back to the other Asgardians, Pepper gave them a polite, perfectly insincere smile. “JARVIS will direct you to your suites and inform you when dinner is being served.” She informed them in a tone that brooked no argument. “And if you need anything in the meantime, he’ll be glad to assist you. Won’t you JARVIS?”

“As always, Your Majesty.” JARVIS responded promptly.

All of the Asgardians except for Queen-Regent Hela – who merely raised an eyebrow in mildly impressed curiosity – jumped and looked around for the source of the voice. It gave Pepper a small sense of petty satisfaction that she used to soothe some of her lingering irritation. “What was that?” Hogun asked, frowning first at the corners of the room, then at Pepper.

“That’s JARVIS.” She informed them. “He runs the castle.”

“He _is_ the castle.” Peter interjected, a touch of pride in his voice.

Everyone looked duly impressed and ever so slightly unnerved, but it was Queen-Regent Hela who spoke, and while her voice soft and quiet, it immediately grabbed everyone’s attention and held it. “He is truly a magnificent construct.” She complimented. “Not that I’m surprised. I’ve heard good things about Ferronia’s talent for magical constructs.” That seemed like a very odd thing for an Asgardian to say, and Pepper looked Queen-Regent Hela over with a more curiously appraising eye. She got a mysterious smile for her trouble, and little else.

“Thank you, Madam.” JARVIS replied politely.

Behind her, Pepper heard Loki snap “ _No_ , Thor! I was _tolerated_ in Asgard, for _your_ sake, and Mother’s, not for any merit of my own!” and decided it was high time these people left.

“If you’ll follow JARVIS’s directions?” She prompted, holding an arm out towards the doors. Most of them took the hint, and began to leave, but Fandral wasn’t even paying attention to her anymore. He was peering around her to ogle the familial spat playing out beyond her. Sif seemed reluctant to leave as well, one hand settled, for all appearances casually, on the hilt of her sword.

Pepper snapped her fingers in Fandral’s face, and he startled again. “You’re dismissed.” She told him pointedly. He gave her a wide-eyed look, but went, not daring to push his luck. Sif followed, her footsteps dragging. But then they were out, and JARVIS – bless his spellwork – shut the doors with a very final thud behind them. “Thank you, JARVIS.”

“Of course, Ma’am.” JARVIS replied, voice softer and more honest than before.

“Give Fandral the suite with the draft. And Sif the one on the east side with the sheer curtains.” Pepper instructed. She was pretty sure JARVIS sounded a little pleased under his dry amusement as he confirmed that he would.

Pepper took a steadying breath, which was aided when Peter put a hand on her arm and gave her an understanding grimace, then she turned to assess the state of things behind her. Thor was in the middle of an impassioned speech that didn’t look like it was impressing Loki in the slightest. “-so you _cannot_ say no one ever cared for your company!”

“None of those people were talking to me for my _company_! They were talking to me because Mother wasn’t available to hear their problems, and they knew that you and Odin _wouldn’t listen_. The _entirety_ of my social circle was _you_ and _your friends_!” Loki laughed bitterly. “And they didn’t even like me, anyway. They put up with me because _you_ cared for me.”

“Yes, well, you can’t expect good will to last when you’re permanently removing all their hair or-” Thor began with a chiding look that only made Loki bristle.

“Wait, what’s this about removing hair?” Tony interjected. “I want to hear this story.”

Loki’s irritation gave way to a touch of amusement. “I may have cursed Sif’s hair off after she tried to blackmail me over my sexual indiscretions.” He told Tony with an air of false innocence that made Tony snicker and drop his forehead to rest on Loki’s shoulder. “She used to be blonde, and she was very proud of her hair. I told her if she slept with the amulet on, it would make her hair shine like gold.” Tony laughed harder, while Thor scowled in a mix of confusion and anger. “In my defence, it wasn’t meant to be permanent, but it took Mother three months to make it grow back it. It grew back in the lovely shade of black it is today, and no one ever figured out how to make her hair blonde again.”

“You claim she tried to blackmail you?” Thor asked.

“You’re seriously telling me she _believed you_ about what the amulet would do?” Tony demanded between little hitches of laughter.

“I _am_ a very good liar.” Loki informed Tony, who just grinned appreciatively. Loki then shot a hard look at Thor. “And yes, Thor. You say I cannot expect goodwill to last, but their goodwill ran out _years_ before I did anything more than harmless pranks.”

“You’ll notice he’s not cursing _Pepper’s_ hair out.” Tony interjected.

“Absolutely not.” Loki agreed at once, eyes widening in mock horror.

Pepper gave them both a fondly exasperated look as she stepped in between the two arguing brothers, then shook her head and turned to Thor before he could try to say anything else. “Either way, it hardly matters any more.” She pointed out gently.

“Right.” Tony agreed, sobering up slightly at the return to the original topic. “Because Loki’s home is here now.” He stated stubbornly. Pepper shot him a knowing look that carried a hint of approval, because she could hear the unspoken ‘so Asgard can go screw itself’, and she was very proud of him for biting his tongue and _not_ saying that to Thor, of all people.

Thor looked slightly pained, but he nodded. “You are truly happy here?” He checked.

“Yes, Thor.” Loki confirmed, rolling his eyes but smiling faintly. “I am.”

“Good.” Thor decided, beaming. “Then I shall speak no more on the subject.” He offered, and Loki accepted gratefully.

* * *

Natasha was sick of having foreign soldiers in her city. She might spend most of her time on the Triskelion now, Aegis’s capital city and mothership, but as a Lady-Commodore she captained the flagship of a fleet of six cities, including her own and it was more _hers_ than almost everything else in her life. Even before Phil had been suddenly promoted, the three of them had kept a house on the Triskelion, as a home for all of them, organised when she’d brought home a traumatised eleven year old that reminded her a little too much of herself, and a little too much of Clint and Phil, too. But that was for _them_ , as a family, but the Plexus belonged to her and her alone.

And now it was crawling with Ferronian knights and militia. She’d known when Phil had given the order that it would bother her, so she’d taken her small one-person flier across from the Triskelion because being there felt less like she was being invaded. What she hadn’t counted on was how much the separation from Skye would bother her. She’d never had a problem before up and vanishing for months at a time when the Plexus needed her attention. Phil and Clint had both done the same, and even Skye had taken one extended trip right after Nick had promoted her to Lady-Captain, giving her a city of her own to take care of.

But then Skye had been kidnapped by the same people that had made Natasha’s childhood a living hell, and suddenly, what had felt at first like a routine trip to her city to make sure the Ferronian knights didn’t trash it became the most nerve-wracking job she’d ever been on. The letters she got every morning from Skye helped, even if they were a couple of days out of date. The first one had informed her that Clint had suspected the separation might be hard on Natasha, and had suggested Skye write to her. Clint always had known Natasha better than she knew herself, of course, and it was both endearing that he had noticed and frustrating that she hadn’t.

All Natasha wanted right now was for the Ferronian rabble to get off her ship so that she could go home and hug her daughter. She knew that wasn’t going to happen for a good long while. She’d be transporting these soldier’s across the sea when the fleet was ready to move – less than a week before they left now, and then another week as they crossed to the Southern Continent – and then they’d have a war to fight. It would be two weeks or more before she got a chance to relax and spend time with her family, and it had her on edge.

She knew her subordinates were walking on eggshells around her because of her mood, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to reign it in. She was good at pretending, could play people for months without once letting on that she thought they were scum, but not here in her city. She wouldn’t let herself play that role here, in a place that was supposed to be for the real Natasha Romanoff.

Which is why there was nothing to stop her stabbing Deadpool in the throat when he appeared in her office in the flash of blue auroras.

“Ow.” The mercenary complained, voice distorted by blood and metal. He reached up and pulled her dagger out of his neck and looked down at it. After clearing his throat a couple of times as the wound healed over, he flipped the dagger so that he was holding it by the blade and offered her the hilt. “Nice craftsmanship. It’s very sharp.” He complimented.

“I know.” Natasha confirmed, taking it back. She fetched a cloth to clean it on, then sheathed it again. Once that was done, she turned back to Deadpool with her arms crossed. “What do you want?”

“Me? Nothing.” Deadpool replied flippantly. “I’m just playing taxi. PC wants you back on the Triskelion for an urgent meeting. Code Delta, he said? Not that I have a clue what that means, but it’s what he said to tell you.”

Natasha went cold. Code Delta was family emergencies. It was one of the few real gifts Nick had ever given them; the ability to tell anyone higher on the chain of command than them to fuck off if they needed to. It was a Lord-Navarch-approved protocol that gave them time away from their duties to take care of each other, and the day Nick had explained it to them was the first time Natasha had realised that, in his own way, he cared. It was the first time in a very long time that she’d felt like she had a solid foundation on which to rebuild her life.

A dozen scenarios flashed through her mind before she forced herself to stop thinking. Whatever came, she would face it as it was, and worrying about what _might_ be wrong wasn’t going to help. “Let’s go.” She said sharply.

“Wow. Code Delta gets things done, huh? Gotta remember that-”

“Use it without explicit permission, and I _will_ find a way to kill you, Wilson.” Natasha snapped at him, so far beyond the ability to take his flippant rambling in stride. “Now shut up and take me home.” She instructed as she reached out and caught hold of his arm.

“Okay! We’re going!” Deadpool yelped, raising his hands defensively, even as those blue auroras started to seep from his wrist. Looking closer, Natasha saw that he was wearing a narrow black leather cuff with the teleportation amulet embedded on the underside, presumably pressed against the skin of his wrist. Deadpool caught what she was looking at. “Yeah, pretty neat, huh?” He asked as the world was swallowed by blue. He kept right on talking, even though Natasha couldn’t hear him until the blue recoiled from around them and deposited them in Phil’s study in the Triskelion’s main keep. “-made it for me. You’d think magic and art and books and shit would be enough, but no, Petey can _sew_ , too. Isn’t my baby boy awesome?”

“Mmhm.” Natasha confirmed vaguely, giving the impression that she hadn’t really been listening, although she had, and was storing the information for later perusal. She also took in the scene in the study in a flood of lightning-quick absorption and processing. The grand oak desk was cluttered, and the shelves lining the walls were slightly disorganised, but other than that, the room looked the same as ever. Phil and Skye were standing together in front of Phil’s desk, looking worried and uncertain. The air felt too thick to breathe all of a sudden, but she ignored it and focused on the issue at hand, because that was what she was good at. “Phil, what’s happening?”

As she stepped away from Deadpool, he vanished in another swirl of blue. Skye greeted her with a smile that was sincere and not too clouded with worry, so some of Natasha’s own anxiety eased, although the stressed lines on Phil’s face weren’t reassuring at all. She pulled her daughter into a one-armed hug that Skye returned by wrapping both her arms around Natasha’s middle and tucking her head into the hollow of Natasha’s shoulder, even though she had been too tall for that for a couple of years now.

“I don’t know.” Phil informed her, dry tone ruined by the tightness of his fear. He leaned in to give her a soft kiss, since they were safe in the privacy of his study when the door was shut. No one would barge into the Lord-Navarch’s study without knocking. “Ask Skye. Maybe she’ll tell _you_.” He teased, despite the atmosphere making it fall a little flat.

“I don’t know either.” Skye insisted.

“Clint instigated Code Delta?” Natasha presumed.

Skye shook her head, but it was Clint who answered. “No, actually. What’s going on?” Natasha glanced over her shoulder to see him stepping away from Deadpool, his posture deceptively casual, to join their little cluster. He kissed Phil, then her, and then ruffled Skye’s hair.

“JARVIS told me that there was a Code Delta situation and he was sending Deadpool to get us all here. I didn’t question him because… well, Code Delta.” Skye explained, shrugging with a frank and easy lack of excuses.

Natasha was forced to stop her analysis of the situation and backtrack. Assumptions were never a good idea, she knew that, but there were some things she thought she knew about her family. Like the number of people in it being _four_ , not five. “JARVIS.” She repeated carefully. “You told JARVIS about Code Delta?”

Skye pressed her lips together, eyes widening pointedly as she shook her head. “Nope.” She said with emphasis and complete certainty. “And he can’t just pull it out of my brain, either, before you ask. The only stuff that gets transmitted involuntarily is emotional, and that’s only if I’m not concentrating or it’s _really_ strong. Information is strictly intentional or not at all.”

That… was not very reassuring at all. Natasha considered what that meant, every instinct on high alert. “You trust him?” She asked Skye softly. She knew her daughter loved JARVIS, but love and trust did not always come hand in hand. She knew that from personal experience. She watched Skye for her answer more than she listened to whatever words came out of her mouth. If there was even a flicker of doubt in Skye, she was going to get them out of there as fast as possible. Hopefully, she’d manage it before the trap sprung.

“I do.” Skye confirmed.

Natasha couldn’t tell if it was honesty or naivety that let her be that certain, but Skye wasn’t a stranger to having her trust betrayed, so Natasha was going to err on the side of honesty. She let herself relax a little. Not a lot, but enough that she didn’t immediately go into attack mode when the door opened. She did gently pry Skye off her as she turned to look, just in case she needed to move fast. But any idea of moving went out the window as she watched the door swing wide and a ghost walked into the room.

“What the _fuck_?” Clint blurted out, shocked and just beginning to edge over into angry. He had never been quite as close to Nicholas Fury as herself or Phil, or even Skye, but then… Clint was much more likely to get angry on their behalf than his own.

“Good to see you too, Lord-Commodore Barton.” Nick retorted dryly. He shut the door behind him and strode deeper into the room, away from the door and off to the side, giving them an escape route if they needed one. Natasha instinctively inspected the way he moved, noticing the distinct but rather dignified limp, the new scar above his eye-patch, the way he was holding his right shoulder just a little bit stiffer than she remembered.

“No, seriously; _what the actual fuck_?!” Clint demanded, but he still didn’t get an answer.

“Oh my gods, you _asshole_!” Skye burst out. Then she was across the room and wrapping her arms around Nick’s chest. Nick raised his eyes to the heavens, unimpressed, but he didn’t pry Skye off him. He even patted her on the back, in a manner that was distinctly resigned, but not actually reluctant or insincere. “Never tell JARVIS to keep secrets from me ever again!” Skye complained.

“No promises.” Nick retorted wryly amused.

Skye paused for a moment, then snorted. “Yeah, well, he’s not going to listen to you again, anyway. Because this was _really_ stupid. Did you really think we wouldn’t want to know _right away_?”

“Not without proof.” Nick retorted, lifting his gaze to meet Natasha’s. Natasha didn’t know what to do with that, because she could acknowledge within the privacy of her thoughts that he was right, but she was still too angry and hurt to actually admit it out loud. Then Nick did start prying Skye off, obviously reaching his limit of affectionate gestures for the day. Skye backed up, looking heartily embarrassed by her little outburst.

Phil cleared his throat tentatively, although it didn’t stop him sounding dazed and confused when he spoke. “Welcome back, sire.” Natasha stiffened, because she hadn’t even begun to think of the chaos this would bring to Aegis, but they had only just managed to straighten out their command structure after Nick’s death. Him coming back would inevitably mess it all up again.

Nick immediately shook his head. “No.” He said at once, which allowed Natasha to relax a little and go back to being hurt on a more personal level. “That’s your job now, Lord-Navarch Coulson.” He went on pointedly. Then he smiled faintly, just enough to make him look both pleased and amused. “I have other things to occupy my time now, and I don’t doubt that I’m leaving Aegis in good hands.” There was a touch of warning in his last few words, which had Phil straightening his spine; a long conditioned response to that tone coming from Nick Fury.

“Of course, Navarch Fury.” Phil confirmed.

Nick nodded once, closing the subject to further discussion. He looked to be about to say something else, but Clint jumped in before he could. “Wait, what other things?” He asked in confused suspicion. Nick raised one eyebrow, silently demanding to know why Clint thought he was allowed to know the answer to that question. “It’s a legitimate question!” Clint protested, pointing dramatically at Nick. “Don’t pretend you had a life outside of running Aegis. You wouldn’t even admit you had a crush on High Duke Banner because you were so wrapped up in Aegis!”

Natasha blinked, her quietly simmering anger being derailed for the second time, this time in surprise. It wasn’t often that Clint saw something in people that she didn’t, but out of everyone she’d ever met, he was the one who managed it the most. He usually told her what she’d missed, though, so she felt a little unsettled that he’d never mentioned this to her. And she knew he was right, because Nick looked surprised, but a little wryly impressed.

“Well,” Nick began, speaking with careful deliberation, “I’m not wrapped up in Aegis anymore.” He pointed out calmly. Natasha could see the amusement in his eyes, though, and felt the world starting to slide out from under her. Clint took her hand and squeezed gently to help ground her before the sensation made her crack. She appreciated it more than words could say, so she simply squeezed back and hoped he understood. Nick’s gaze found her again, and his amusement faded to something that was the closest she’d ever seen him get to actual remorse. “You’ve been very quiet, Romanoff. Should I be worried?” He asked.

“Banner doesn’t do relationships.” Natasha said, instead of answering the question. Mostly because she didn’t know how to answer it yet, so she stalled for time and changed the subject.

“Didn’t.” Nick corrected with an idle, one shouldered shrug.

Natasha rolled that around in her head for a moment, connecting it to everything she knew about High Duke Banner. She knew he had, until his recent elevation in status, lived in a very remote manor up in the mountains, which would have been a perfect place to recover from an assassination attempt without letting on he _was_ recovering. And then Banner had relocated to Vulcana, with the High Princess going along to help him get settled, and the High Princess had made no secret of her feelings for the High Duke. “Darcy?” Natasha asked dryly, levelling Nick with the flat, unimpressed stare she had learned from him.

Nick smiled despite himself, and Natasha’s eyebrows flew up in surprise. “She’s a very hard person to say no to.” Nick admitted. Out of the corner of her eye, Natasha saw Clint’s jaw sag open in shock. Whether that was at the idea of Nick dating someone so much younger than him, or the idea of him having trouble saying no to _anyone_ , she wasn’t sure. It was probably both.

“ _Darcy_?” Skye and Phil asked in unison, Phil sounding slightly faint with shock, and Skye’s voice coming out strangled in her disbelief.

“She’s _my age_!” Skye continued to protest, looking baffled.

Nick considered that, then nodded. “Yes.” He said simply.

“Oh.” Skye muttered, all of her protests neatly derailed by Nick’s complete lack of deflection or defence. “Okay.” She added, drawing the word out to make it clear she wasn’t buying it, but couldn’t really think of how to press the issue anymore.

Natasha let the silence settle for a moment. “I’m going to fetch Steve.” She announced, and didn’t wait for a response before she stalked past Nick and out the door. She barely got two corridors away before Phil caught up with her. “Lady-Commodore Romanoff.” He called, and Natasha suddenly wanted to scream at him. She couldn’t ignore him when he spoke to her as her Lord-Navarch, but she also knew he couldn’t get her attention any other way in public, so she couldn’t really blame him.

It was exactly the problem she was having with Nick right now.

She stopped walking and turned her head a little, enough to show that she was listening, but not enough to look at him. She heard him take a breath, then let it out without speaking in a frustrated huff. When he did finally speak, it wasn’t to her, and she could tell from the polite-yet-clipped tone of voice he used. “Excuse me, could you find Lord-Admiral Rogers and Commodore Barnes and ask them to come to my office, please? Make sure they’re aware it’s urgent.”

“Yes, sire, right away.” A young squire responded at once, and darted off.

Phil stepped past her, hand brushing her arm before he went to open a door off to the left of the corridor. “A word, Romanoff?” He requested. The lack of her title was a little better than before, but Natasha was too wound tight to fully appreciate it. She followed him anyway, because at least in private she could rake him over the coals.

The room turned out to be an archive, shelves and shelves of meticulously kept record books and walls lined with scrolls stacked in their neatly labelled cubby-holes. Witchlights kept the room illuminated enough to see, but the light was still relatively dim. Once the door was shut behind her, Natasha rounded on Phil. “What?”

Phil didn’t answer for a long moment, just stood there looking at her like he knew exactly what was going on inside her head. He and Clint were the only people in the universe she let get away with that, and only because most of the time they _did_ know what was going on inside her messed up head. “I’m angry, too.” Phil said finally, and she could tell from the clenching of his jaw and the tension in his posture that it was true.

Natasha shook her head. “It was the smart move to keep it secret.”

“Yes.” Phil agreed, suddenly sounding very tired. “It was. If it was me in that position, I would have done the same thing.” Natasha’s breath caught a little at the idea of losing Phil, only to find out she hadn’t, that he’d _done that_ to her deliberately. She shook it off quickly, knowing that worrying about things that hadn’t happened was irrational, but Phil noticed her reaction anyway. “For future reference, if it ever does come to this for me? You, Clint, and Skye _will_ know that I’m alive.” He informed her.

“Good.” Natasha replied, mustering a smile to show her gratitude for the reassurance.

Phil smiled back for a moment, before it slipped away, replaced with pained frustration. “I completely understand why Nick did what he did. He did the right thing. He protected Aegis, like he always has.” He went on, nodding slightly even as the tension in Natasha increased. Phil’s eyes rose from where they’d been staring down and to the side, glazing over slightly as he spoke, and he looked her right in the eye. “I don’t care. About any of that.”

The admission clearly cost him. Just the fact that he’d said it out loud at all seemed to unlock something inside Natasha, and she crossed the room to step into the circle of Phil’s arms, which came up around her at once. She pressed her forehead into his shoulder and just breathed through the anger and pain that was trying to escape her. “He’s the only reason I had the strength to build what I have with you.” Natasha admitted some time later, almost too quiet to hear.

Phil’s arms tightened around her. “I don’t think that’s true, but I know what you mean.” He said, almost matching her in volume. Natasha drew back to look at him, smiling faintly at the pure, open faith in his eyes when he looked at her. Despite everything, Phil had never let go of his ability to trust in the best in people, and it was one of the reasons she loved him so damn much. Without a word, Natasha leaned in and pressed a kiss to his lips. One of Phil’s hands jumped to her cheek as he kissed her back, soft and tender.

When she leaned back, Natasha felt a little less like she was coming apart at the seams. She caught Phil’s hand in hers as she drew away so that she could tug him into following her, then dropped it before she opened the door. By the time she stepped out into the hallway again, she was perfectly put together and professional. “Thank you for you help, Romanoff.” Phil said as he joined her in the hallway, for the benefit of anyone passing by.

Natasha dipped her head in acknowledgement, and Phil gave the door to the records room one last slightly bemused, considering look before he headed back towards his study. Falling into step just a little behind him, Natasha gave a soft, curious hum, an invitation for Phil to share his thoughts if he wanted to.

He shook his head, smiling to himself, and muttered out of the corner of his mouth too quiet for anyone else to hear, “I’m just feeling ridiculously like a teenager right now.” The admission came flavoured with amusement and a slightly wistful nostalgia.

Natasha thought about that. Her own teenage years had been so far away from normal, but she’d been coached on how to behave normally, and luring boys into stables or dusty library aisles or shadowed corners of gardens had been one of the first skills she’d been taught. The thought of doing something like that not for some ulterior motive, but just because you were young and reckless and in love made her smile. She resolved to put some of her hard learned skills to use on Phil at a later date, since he seemed so entertained by the idea. She was a little intrigued by it herself, if she was honest.

Returning to Phil’s study was much easier than she’d thought it would be, now that she’d made peace with her anger. Phil gave a cursory warning knock to the door before he opened it, and they slipped back inside and Natasha shut it behind them.

Steve and Bucky had beaten them there, and Bucky was sitting on one of the chairs on this side of the large desk, his face pale and bewildered and deeply relieved. Steve was standing beside him, one hand clasped protectively and reassuringly on Bucky’s left shoulder, a scowl on his face as he glared at Nick, who had his arms crossed and a very unimpressed look on his face. Clint and Skye were standing shoulder to shoulder, watching with avid fascination what had obviously been a disagreement before Phil and Natasha interrupted.

Everyone had looked over when the door opened, but once Steve had assessed who they were, he went right back to glaring at Nick. Clint, on the other hand, beamed at them. “You missed the show.” He informed them. “It was great.”

“Barton.” Nick warned.

“Ha. You can’t tell me to shut up anymore.” Clint retorted smugly. Nick rolled his eyes while Clint snickered, and Natasha finally let go of the last of her anger. She could vent in small and petty ways later. Right now, she decided that it _was_ good to know that Nick was okay.

“Steve, stop scowling or you face will get stuck that way.” She interjected, earning herself a stink-eye from Steve, and a grateful look of near-apology from Nick. It would do for now; that subtle communication of remorse and forgiveness. It would do.

* * *

The air always felt slightly electric against Matt’s skin on the eve of battle. The combined might of the Ferronian, Aegean and Asgardian armies were camped out on the plains at the foot of the mountains that housed Thanos’s army. No doubt the God-King would have liked to stop them getting this far, but the Clans of the Southern Continent didn’t have the resources or the engineers to match Aegis for dominion of the skies. Seven of the hundred and thirty odd Aegean cities had flown them right to Thanos’s doorstep, and they’d set up camp.

There had been a few skirmishes along the way. Sky-pirates recruited by Thanos hassled them on their journey, but Aegis was a warrior nation, and they dealt with sky-pirates every other week. Most of the foreign warriors hadn’t even had to get out of bed to help. Now they were here, and they would be meeting Thanos on the field tomorrow. The tension in the air sang along Matt’s nerves, waking his bloodlust and sharpening his senses until he was fairly certain he could hear the breath in the lungs of the outermost sentries.

A distraction was in order, and Matt _had_ been meaning to have a proper conversation with Wade for a while now. Oh, they’d spoken. It was hard not to when Wade never shut up and they were both unwilling to spend much time at all away from Peter. He’d gotten to know the mercenary quite well over the last few weeks of preparing for war. But for all that there was barely a moment with Wade that wasn’t filled with words, it was surprising how little of actual substance the man ever communicated.

Matt could understand why other people found it irritating. It was a constant barrage of words designed to keep people at a distance, and most people got fed up fairly quickly, but most people couldn’t sense what Matt could sense. The subtlest nuance of Wade’s tone of voice was clear as a bell to Matt, and it was easy for him to hear what wasn’t being said. Easy to hear the deflection, the avoidance, the sincerity hidden beneath bad puns and dirty jokes.

It was fascinating. As was the change in the cadence of Wade’s heartbeat every time Peter touched him. And the matching shift in Peter whenever Wade called Peter ‘baby boy’. Which was what Matt wanted to talk about.

It took Matt a surprisingly long time to find Wade, because as good as his senses were, if there was nothing for him to listen to and home in on, his enhanced senses weren’t much use. He’d had to resort to asking people if they’d seen Deadpool, and following their directions. Eventually, though, he found the mercenary sitting at the edge of the camp, slowly and methodically sharpening his katana. Wordlessly, Matt sat down on the grass next to the stool Wade was perched on, and took a moment to soak up the presence of the other man.

Wade always smelt like pain. Even when he was laughing, genuinely bright and happy, there was always the dark undercurrent of pain in his scent. It had disconcerted Matt, when he’d first realised there were a few particular emotions that changed enough of a person’s body chemistry that he could smell it in their sweat. Fear was the strongest, a bitter, sharp stink, and of course there was arousal, too, which was always just a little bit sweet. Pain was another, soft and earthy and heavy in the back of his throat.

Some days were worse than others, for Wade, but Matt was relieved to note that this was a good day. The tension he could feel radiating off Wade was anger and the same bloodlust that Matt was ignoring, not a product of whatever it was that was constantly causing him pain.

“You want something, Murdock?” Wade asked abruptly. Anyone else might have jumped, but Matt had the advantage of a warning. He’d heard the sudden, quick intake of breath that preceded the outburst.

“Matt.” Matt corrected.

“You want something, Matty?” Wade asked again.

It took Matt a moment to find his voice, because it had been far, far too long since anyone had called him that. It tightened his throat with emotion, but strangely it didn’t hurt as much as he thought it would. He smiled a little at himself, and decided he liked it. “Just some company and perhaps some good conversation.” He answered.

Wade laughed. “Well, you’ve come to the right place for that!” He exclaimed brightly.

“I know.” Matt agreed, and felt the hitch and pause as Wade stumbled over the sincerity in his voice. “You don’t expect people to enjoy listening to you, do you?” He asked gently, knowing he was poking at a sensitive subject.

“If I had a coin for every time I heard the words ‘shut up, Wade’ I’d be richer than a King.” Wade replied flippantly. “So, hey, I’ve never actually had one of those, before. This has been a very strange experience, I’ll have you know. I suppose I should start saying ‘richer than _the High King_ ’ instead. Because ‘a King’ is pretty vague, right? It’s like, there could be a King of a little colony of fishermen or something, and I bet he wouldn’t be very rich at all. But when I say I’d be richer than a King, I’m talking about the kind of King that has rooms and rooms just full of gemstones and gold and, you know, probably rolls in it at least once a week.”

Matt chuckled. “I don’t think the High King rolls in his gold.”

“No, he just uses it to inlay magic on his armour and kick people’s butts with it.” Wade replied easily, his rapid-fire banter easing back now that Matt wasn’t bringing his feelings into the light. Matt felt the now expected surge of protective rage at whoever had convinced Wade that it was better to keep himself and his emotions hidden behind a wall of words. “I want armour like that. But when I asked, he just laughed at me. He _did_ give me my own armoury, though, like Petey promised.” He added, sounding just a touch surprised.

“Peter would give you the moon if he thought it would make you happy.” Matt informed him, because he was pretty sure Wade hadn’t actually noticed how much Peter had already come to love him.

“Of course I would- Wait, what?” Wade asked, derailing abruptly as he realised what Matt had _actually_ said, not what he’d been expecting to hear. The rasp of the whetstone across the blade in Wade’s lap faltered, then settled back into a steady rhythm. “I think you’ve got that the wrong way round there, Matty.” Wade went on, laughing uncomfortably.

“I know you’d do anything you could for Peter.” Matt replied. “So would I.” He added, a little vulnerability slipping into his voice because he had been very, very careful not to let on that he felt that way about Peter. He was the High Prince’s bodyguard, and it wasn’t proper. But having a war looming on the horizon with the dawning sun changed one’s priorities, and Matt didn’t want to play by the rules anymore.

“Good.” Wade announced, his voice slipping into his darker, utterly serious tone of voice.

“Have you considered the possibility that he feels the same way about us?” Matt asked, as blunt as he could manage now that Wade was slightly less likely to just automatically deflect his words with another stream of consciousness.

There was a nice long, disbelieving silence after that. Matt heard the whetstone falter and then stop this time, he heard the slide of fabric on skin as Wade turned his head, and felt the prickle of his gaze on the side of his face as Wade _stared_ at him. “You, maybe.” Wade said finally, and he was still being serious, which was a minor miracle, in Matt’s opinion.

“And I thought I was supposed to be the blind one.” Matt muttered with a small laugh. He shook his head as Wade didn’t respond to that verbally, just shrugged. “I know Peter likes me, and we’ve already established that I’d do anything for him. But two doesn’t make a healthy relationship, and I don’t need to be able to see to know how Peter lights up when you’re around. You’re good for him, and he’s good for you, too. He loves you.”

Matt heard Wade swallow hard. “Well, then he’s stupid.” he retorted, but there wasn’t much feeling behind it.

“You and I both know that Peter is anything but stupid.” Matt corrected gently. “I don’t know what convinced you that you don’t deserve to be loved, but maybe you should take a chance on Peter.” He suggested, ignoring the way Wade twitched away from him at his words, even though it sent a little pang through him.

“Already know I’m gonna take whatever he offers.” Wade told him, tone short and unhappy. “It’s gonna kill me when he moves on, but – No, I know not _literally_ – Okay, good point. It will literally kill me quite a few times, probably, but I’m stupid and already doomed anyway, so what does it matter, right?” It was very strange, hearing Wade be so flippant while he was still talking like a hardened killer instead of a hyperactive five year old.

Matt sort of wanted to cry at the matter-of-fact pessimism Wade was coming out with. “And what if he doesn’t move on?”

Wade snorted. “Like you said; two doesn’t make a healthy relationship. Even if Peter’s stupid and blind enough to love my ugly mug, the chances of lightning striking the same place twice?” He scoffed again, and Matt felt him flap a hand in the air, creating intricate little eddies around them that Matt tracked absently as spoke.

“Well, I do happen to be blind, you know.” He pointed out lightly.

“Yeah, but you’re not normal blind. You can probably sense the ugly all the way across camp. I know you’re only putting up with me for Peter’s sake. You don’t have to sugar-coat it.” Wade snapped, but there was more weariness than resentment or anger in his voice.

Matt wanted to shake him. Instead, because he did have more self-control than that, thank you, he twisted up onto his knees between Wade’s legs, his stomach brushing the cool, sharp metal of the katana, and cupped his palms against Wade’s masked cheeks. “I don’t think you could be more wrong if you tried.” He told the startled mercenary, his voice getting that hard edge to it that it always got when he was pushed beyond diplomatic politeness.

“You’re going to gut yourself on my katana in a minute.” Wade warned him, leaning backwards slightly, but not actively trying to escape.

“No I’m not. I know it’s there.” Matt corrected, shaking his head slightly.

“See? You’re not normal-blind.”

Matt huffed in exasperation and curled forwards until he could press his forehead to Wade’s. This close, Wade’s heartbeat was easily audible, and a little too fast to be calming. He could also feel Wade’s breath now, muffled through his mask, but the fabric was thin enough for decent airflow. It smelt of cheap food, and Matt found himself smiling despite himself. This man was going to be the death of him, and he didn’t even care. “You’re a stubborn fool, has anyone ever told you that before?”

“Probably. Can’t remember.” Wade admitted, voice shaking slightly. “What are you doing?” He added uncertainly.

“I’m trying to figure out what I can possibly say to convince you that I like you just fine by yourself, with or without Peter.” Matt informed him dryly. “But I’m not sure you’ll listen to me. Hence, you’re a stubborn fool.” Wade’s breath caught, his heartbeat sped up minutely, and the stubborn fool shook his head disbelievingly.

They stayed like that for a moment, as Matt searched desperately for something to say that would get through to Wade. His fingers shifted over the material of Wade’s mask, and Wade’s hand leapt up to cover them and hold them still. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing, you sneaky son of a bitch.” Wade muttered, more petulant than angry. “You’re not getting a look at my face. That’s final.”

Something clicked into place in Matt’s mind, and he felt like an idiot for not noticing it before. “Does this have something to do with why you always smell like pain?” He asked softly.

Wade’s hands spasmed over his, then clamped down hard. Matt winced. “I knew you could sense the ugly.” He snarled, pulling Matt’s hands away from his face and pushing Matt backwards until there was an almost socially acceptable distance between them, except for the fact that Matt was still on his knees between Wade’s legs. “Fuck off, Murdock. I don’t need your pity.”

“Gods, Wilson, I really would have to be an idiot to _pity_ you.” Matt snapped back, rolling his eyes behind his blindfold. Wade stilled, not trying to push Matt any further away, but not welcoming him any closer either. “I think it takes incredible strength to do what you do, every day, while you’re in as much pain as you are. I admire that strength, even though I wish you didn’t need to be. I _care_ , Wade, and that’s as far from pity as you can get.”

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed the way you keep trying to nanny me.” Wade snapped at him, half resentful, half… something else.

Matt sighed again. “I never meant to imply that I don’t think you can’t handle things, I just don’t think you should _have_ to push yourself all the time.” He paused, then quirked a teasing little smile. “So I want to pamper you a little bit. Are you really going to _complain_?”

He heard Wade open his mouth, stop, then close it. A moment later, he spoke. “I’m glaring at you, Matty, just so you know.” He announced petulantly. Matt just smiled widely at the return to the nickname. “Fine. Okay, you persistent bastard.” Wade exclaimed, letting go of Matt’s hands to throw them in the air. Then he pointed dramatically at Matt, his finger so close to Matt’s face that the tip brushed his nose. “But I expect lots of pampering. _All_ the pampering.”

“Of course.” Matt agreed, too relieved to say or do anything else. Then he remembered the way Wade had gotten so unsettled by Matt’s hands on his face, and decided to push just a little more. “Step one of the pampering of Wade Wilson: I’m going to kiss you.” He warned.

“You really are a persistent bastard. Just keep your grabby hands to yourself.” Wade demanded, before he pulled Matt with a hand in the collar of his undershirt, while his other hand tugged his mask up to his nose. Then he was kissing Matt, and Matt discovered that Wade was a _very_ good kisser. Evidently, he wasn’t squeamish about people touching his face unless it _mattered_. Matt resolved to convince Wade to let him ‘look’ at him at some point. But not right now, because right now Matt was much more interested in enjoying kissing Wade.

Wade’s lips were chapped and rough, but Matt rather liked it in contrast to how gentle Wade was being. It was ridiculously sweet. As instructed, Matt was keeping his hands away from Wade’s face, letting them rest instead on Wade’s thighs to help him stay balanced. Wade’s hands, however, came up to hold Matt’s face steady as he kissed him.

“Mm, you’re very good at that.” Matt murmured in a pause for air.

“Of course I am.” Wade retorted indignantly.

Matt could only laugh, his nose brushing against Wade’s. “We should find Peter.” He suggested, and felt Wade go suddenly tense under his palms. “He loves you.” Matt reminded him, sliding backwards carefully to avoid cutting himself on Wade’s katana, then getting to his feet and holding a hand out to Wade.

“I’ll believe it when I see it.” Wade muttered, but he took Matt’s hand anyway and let the blind man pull him to his feet. There was a faint rustle of cloth on skin as Wade pulled his mask back down over his face again, followed by the quiet hiss of his katana being slid back into it’s sheath.

“You’ve been seeing it for weeks.” Matt retorted, turning and heading back into the center of the camp, knowing that Wade was following right behind him. This time, he didn’t need to ask for directions, because he was pretty sure he already knew where Peter was. Sure enough, as they approached the cluster of command tents, Matt could hear the steady tempo of his agitated footsteps as he paced inside his tent. “Peter?” Matt called from outside, since there was no door to knock on.

Peter jumped, his heartbeat leaping into double time as he gasped and spun around, knocking into something wooden – A table? A chair? Something with three legs, anyway – that wobbled, and then fell over with a dull thud. “Oh, gods. Um, yes? Sorry, one minute. Fuck. Uh, come in?” Peter called back.

Chuckling, Matt tugged the tent-flap aside and walked over to help Peter set his furniture to rights. “I didn’t mean to startle you.” He apologised as he picked up the table.

“It’s fine. I’m just jumpy. Not that I’m not glad that I’m not back in the city-” Peter added hastily, waving a hand in the air above his head to indicate he was talking about the Triskelion. “-but I’m so nervous about tomorrow. Sorry. That’s probably- I’m not even fighting, you guys actually have something to worry about.” He rambled.

“ _I’m_ not worried.” Wade interjected, making Peter jump again.

“ _Gods and Spirits_. Do you two get a kick out of scaring me half to death?!” Peter yelped.

“You _are_ pretty cute when you’re flustered.” Wade acknowledged, snickering.

Peter cleared his throat, hands shuffling restlessly against clothing and skin and hair in his sudden embarrassment. Matt wondered if Peter was blushing, and what that might look like on him, but didn’t dwell on it too long, or it would make him maudlin. “Thank you? I think?” Peter offered uncertainly.

“You’re welcome, baby boy.” Wade tossed out flippantly, and as always, Peter’s heartbeat stuttered with pleasure.

There was a beat of silence. It dragged out just to the edge of awkward before Matt decided he really had no reason to be nervous, and steeled himself to speak. “We were hoping to talk to you about something-”

“I actually wanted to ask you two a question-” Peter said at the same time.

They both stopped to let the other continue, which only created another awkward silence. Matt huffed a laugh at himself and shook off the tension. “You were saying, Highness?” He prompted, half amused, half apologetic.

He heard Peter shaking his head quickly. “No, no. You go first.” He offered.

Matt opened his mouth, then bit back his automatic protest. Peter’s heart was fluttering like a hummingbird, and the fidgety tenseness in his body suggested he wasn’t going to let Matt let him speak first. “Alright.” Matt agreed, and the tension flowed out of Peter. It made Matt a little worried, but he’d already agreed, so he ploughed on before his doubts could get the better of him. “Wade and I were wondering, or rather hoping, that you’d be interested in allowing us to court you.” He explained.

Peter sucked in a shocked breath. Wade snorted. Then he burst out laughing. Matt heard his butt hit the edge of Peter’s bed with a thump as he sat down abruptly, cackling loudly. “Wade…!” Matt snapped warningly, because he was beginning to smell tears on Peter.

“Is this a _joke_?!” Peter burst out, angry and hurt.

“ _What_?! NO!” Wade yelped, his laughter cutting off abruptly.

Peter swallowed. “Then why did you-? You _laughed_.” He said accusingly.

Wade made a small sound in the back of his throat, and Matt could hear the pained apology and remorse in that tiny whimper. “I wasn’t laughing at you, baby boy. Not ever. But come on, that was the most hilariously formal ‘wanna fuck?’ I’ve ever heard. – Yeah, no, I wasn’t suggesting Matty just blurt out ‘wanna fuck?’ cause that would give completely the wrong impression. – Well, yeah, of course we wanna fuck them. Have you _seen_ them? Our baby boy has the _cutest_ butt-”

“ _Waaade_ …!” Peter whined, voice muffled by his hands.

“Ooh! How about ‘wanna make sweet, sweet love to us before we go off to maybe get horribly maimed and injured tomorrow?’” Wade suggested brightly.

“I liked what I said better.” Matt interjected dryly, resisting the urge to copy Peter and bury his face in his hands. This conversation was spiralling out of control and Matt just didn’t have the wherewithal to drag it back on track right now.

“What you said sounded stuffy and formal and not at all like you’re talking to someone you’re in love with, Matty, don’t even pretend.” Wade countered at once. “Okay, okay. How about ‘We’re about to go to war for you, so how about a kiss for luck?’ How’s that sound?”

“Too flippant.” Matt informed him, reluctantly amused.

Peter chuckled to himself. “How about ‘I love you, so please stay alive tomorrow and come home to me because I don’t want to live the rest of my life not knowing what it’s like to kiss you’?” He interjected, sounding painfully sincere. Matt’s breath caught a little. “That, uh… that was actually what I was going to- I mean, heh, I don’t think I would have managed to be that eloquent if you hadn’t been being all _you_ at me, but… Yeah. I was- I wanted- I love you both. Please don’t die.” Peter begged, voice going a little thick with desperation.

Matt had no idea how anyone was supposed to hold up in the face of that. He crossed the tent to Peter’s side in three strides, slid a hand along his jaw and under his ear, fingertips sliding into his hair, and leaned in for a kiss. Peter made a soft sound of want and relief, and gripped at the edges of Matt’s leather breastplate with both hands. “I swear, Highness.” Matt promised breathlessly as he drew back.

Wade snickered. “Still all formal, Matty.” He teased. “You don’t gotta worry about me, baby boy, I’m not gonna die. And I’ll make sure Matty keeps his promise, too.”

“Good. Yes. Thank you.” Peter rambled, pulling away from Matt to go to Wade. Matt listened intently – aching inside at the loss of his vision because he wanted to _see_ this – as Peter leaned over Wade and his fingers went to the hem of his mask. Just like before, Wade stopped him, reflexively grabbing Peter’s wrists. “Wade…?”

“Don’t- You don’t want to- I’m not-” Wade stammered.

“Wade, I love you. I want to kiss you.”

“I’m ugly, Petie.”

“I don’t care.” Peter retorted. “I don’t care if you’re an actual troll or Adonis reincarnated. I love you and I want to kiss you. Please.”

Wade’s breath was coming short and shallow, but he nodded. Matt heard him nod, and the rustling of fabric on skin as Peter removed Wade’s mask. There was a soft, sharp intake of breath from Peter, and the sound of skin sliding against skin. Peter’s hands on Wade’s cheeks. A pang of intense envy shot through Matt, and he clenched his hands into fists to keep from reaching out and touching where he wasn’t welcome.

Peter let out a slow breath, that was followed by a quick gasp from Wade. The way the sound echoed told Matt that Peter was millimetres away from Wade’s mouth, and sure enough, the nearly inaudible sounds of a chaste kiss followed. “You’re not ugly, Wade.” He stated, soft and sweet and sincere.

“Pfft.”

“You’re not.” Peter insisted, voice turning stubborn in a heartbeat. “Matt, back me up here.” Peter implored, lifting his hands off Wade’s face to- Matt wasn’t sure, but he _thought_ Peter might be wiggling his fingers in the air.

“I can’t. He doesn’t want me to see.” Matt informed Peter, unable to quite keep the wry bitterness out of his voice.

Wade let out an explosive sigh. “Fine, come and ogle me to your hearts content, Matty.” Matt was moving across the room before the first word had finished forming on Wade’s lips. Peter edged to the side and sat next to Wade to give Matt room. “But just so we’re clear-” Wade went on, holding up a finger until Matt paused to listen. “I am only agreeing because you’re the sensible one and Peter will listen to you when you tell him to stop lying.”

Matt didn’t bother to respond to that, and lifted his hands to Wade’s cheeks. The skin under his fingers was strange. Inconsistent. He began to move his fingers, tracing them across Wade’s features as he found shiny patches, pockmarked patches, rough patches, ropy and twisted patches, all painted across a very lovely bone structure. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to agree with Peter on this one.” Matt murmured, unable to keep himself from retracing the lines of Wade’s face again, more than a little fascinated by the feel of his skin.

“Yeah, well.” Wade muttered, turning his head a little to the side. It wasn’t enough to dislodge Matt, so he kept his hands where they were. “You’re _blind_.” Wade pointed out, and Matt could feel his nose wrinkling with the childish taunt.

“Wade!” Peter protested in a voice that rang with mirth.

Matt just snorted. “I can see you just fine like this, thank you.” He retorted primly, making Peter laugh outright. Grinning, Matt pressed a quick kiss to Wade’s lips. “I like it.”

“You know? Me too.” Peter agreed. “Don’t- You’re going to take this the wrong way no matter how I start- I just-“ He huffed, shook his head, and twisted around so that he was on his knees behind Wade and could drape his arms over his shoulders. “I don’t- I hate the idea of you getting all these scars, of you being in that much pain, but… I think it suits you. It makes you look dangerous and powerful. Breathtaking.” Peter finished, kissing Wade’s cheek to emphasise his point. Matt could feel the heat of Wade’s blush against his fingertips.

“Blind and stupid, the both of you.” Wade announced, but somehow, he managed to make it sound like an endearment. “That’s how I’m going to introduce you from now on. Hello, I’m Deadpool, the Merc with a Mouth, and these are my lovers. This one’s Blind, and that one’s Stupid.”

Peter dissolved into helpless giggles, burying his face in Wade’s neck, while Wade’s hand came up to card through his hair. Matt just grinned and pressed his forehead to Wade’s again, basking in the feel of bare, scarred skin instead of fabric. “We love you too, Stubborn.”

* * *

* * *

The command tent was a large, airy structure with one entire side that could be pulled back to overlook the battlefield. It was a little before dawn, and while the sky was beginning to lighten in the east, lanterns and witchlights were still very much necessary to keep the tent and the camp lit. The center of the tent was taken up by a large map table, which had about a dozen people clustered around it. More were coming and going every minute, a combination of messengers – who were usually young teenagers, small enough to look very child-like among the knights and militia in their leather and metal and chainmail – and various ranked officials in the chain of command being given their preliminary instructions for the battle.

At the core of the people clustered around the table, High Queen Virginia – who had smiled warmly at him and asked him to call her Pepper – Lord-Navarch Coulson – who evidently hero-worshiped Steve and, by extension, Bucky himself too – and Imperator Thor were debating back and forth across the table. Pepper had her daughter, the High Princess Darcy, at her shoulder, paying rapt attention to the conversation more than she was participating, and Coulson was actually arguing with Steve, which was rare, and Thor seemed to be almost deferring to his advisors, Champion Heimdall in particular.

Bucky was just trying to stay out of the way. He’d told Steve what he remembered of the God-Kings forces, and he didn’t have anything useful to contribute besides that. He still wasn’t very good at talking to people who weren’t Steve, either. His head felt like a mess, too full of things that hadn’t been there for nearly fifty years, and unless he was actively blocking it all off and slipping into what the Mercenary had started calling his ‘Soldier’ persona, then all that new-old information got very distracting.

A messenger sprinted off, while two more arrived and waited for Pepper’s attention, a handful of the Asgardian advisors – Commanders? Bucky would admit the Asgardian command structure confused him to no end – left with purpose, and four more people ducked inside. Bucky recognised Lady-Admiral Hill and Lord-Commodore Barton, and there was absolutely no mistaking Navarch Fury. He was sure that man’s face would be etched into his memory forever. The last person didn’t look like he belonged on a battle field at all. He looked like a scholar, or possibly some kind of mage, but they weren’t very useful in the immediacy of battle. His shoulders were hunched up around his ears, he was twisting his hands together nervously, and he wasn’t wearing a scrap of armour or anything even vaguely armour-like.

Bucky tried to focus on him as Pepper spotted him and beckoned him to stand next to her, despite the memory ringing in his ears of a dozen other planning and strategy meetings. Darcy lit up when she saw the nervous man, and leaned in to kiss him in greeting. She did the same thing to Navarch Fury, while the nervous man turned to Pepper. “Where do you want me?” He asked, in a strange tone of resignation.

“We were thinking here.” Pepper replied, pointing to somewhere near the very middle of the map. Bucky frowned a little, taking another look at the man.

“I’m going to be too close to the Asgardian army there, Pepper.” The nervous man contradicted with a grimace. “After last time…” He trailed off, shaking his head.

“Mm, that was a concern, but I’ve spoken with Darcy and Nick at length about what happened, and it seems you’re much more _aware_ if the transformation is willing.” Pepper pointed out, and Bucky realised this man must be like Steve, himself, and the Mercenary: An enhanced. “It’s something I’m willing to risk, because Wade and Loki both think Thanos will concentrate most of his heavy hitters here, and that’s where we’re going to need you.”

“Has Thor agreed to this plan?” The enhanced asked wearily.

Thor looked over at his name, and seemed to understand what was being discussed almost at once. He nodded solemnly. “I have, High Duke Banner. The logic is sound, and my people know better than to get in your way.”

“Also, Dad’s going to be between you and them for the most part, and we _know_ the Other Guy likes him, so that should make him think twice even if he _does_ decide that all that gold armour is annoying.” Darcy added, flippancy only partially masking how seriously she was taking the issue.

“Alright.” High Duke Banner agreed tiredly.

Pepper nodded and turned her attention back to the dozen other issues that were demanding her attention, but Darcy stepped away from the table for a moment with the High Duke and the Navarch. “I know you’re pretty much invulnerable, but still… be careful out there, okay?” She asked the High Duke.

Banner nodded immediately, but didn’t take the opportunity to say his goodbyes and head out to the front lines that Bucky knew were being amassed on the field already. He hesitated, hands twisting against each other more than they had been before. Fury reached out and stilled them with one of his own hands, catching them up and holding them as he frowned at Banner. “What is it, Bruce?” He asked.

Bruce looked between the two of them, then closed his eyes. “When-… when this is over…” He began, faltered, then drew in a fortifying breath. “Marry me?” He asked abruptly, as if he thought that if he didn’t say it in that instant, he never would.

“ _Yes_!” Darcy exclaimed at once, as if she was afraid Bruce was going to take it back. “ _Oh my gods_ , absolutely, yes!” She repeated gleefully.

“Her Highness has spoken.” Fury agreed playfully, smiling warmly at the pair of them.

Bruce smiled, tentative but alight with happiness underneath his nervousness. “Oh, gods. I just… I’ve never had anything as good as this. Us. I want- I don’t want to run away from this, but I know myself too well. I don’t want to give myself the chance to give up.” He explained.

“Good. Don’t.” Darcy encouraged, damp-eyed and beaming so wide her cheeks just had to be aching with it. “Stay. Stay with us. Forever.” It was half a plea, half an instruction, and it came out slightly watery. She followed it up with a vaguely disbelieving little laugh.

“That’s the idea.” Bruce agreed, ducking his head sheepishly.

It was Fury who caught Bruce’s face in his hands, drawing his head up so that he could kiss him, deep and intense. When he drew back, a wordless communication seemed to pass between the two of them, and Bruce nodded in answer to whatever Fury’s expression was doing. Then Darcy dragged Bruce into a much more exuberant but equally intense kiss. “How on earth you expect me to focus on _strategy_ after you drop that on me, I don’t know. I love you so much. Now go smash some people for me.” She said in one breath after she released him. Bruce chuckled, transferred Darcy from his own arms to Fury’s as he nodded, then left with an awkward little wave to the two of them. Darcy buried her face in Fury’s chest and giggled, bouncing on the spot in jubilation.

Bucky found himself smiling faintly, pleased that these people were carving out some happiness for themselves, despite the mess that the last several months must have been for them. Voices echoed in his head – ‘It’s always going to be you and me, pal, no matter what else changes.’ ‘I’m with you to the end of the line.’ ‘If we live through this, we should get married!’ – and for a moment, Bucky indulged them, letting the memories take his attention.

“You alright there, Commodore Barnes?” Fury’s voice dragged him out of his head, and he looked around to find the man sitting next to him. It was disturbing, how little of his surroundings he noticed when the echoes got too loud, but at least _this time_ it had been his choice. He’d almost killed Steve his first day back in Aegis, when he hadn’t noticed Steve approaching him until he touched him, and then he’d reacted on instinct.

“Fine thank you, sir.” Bucky replied, glancing around the tent to reassess his surroundings. Darcy was back to hovering over Pepper’s shoulder, but she was still grinning like an idiot, and bouncing for no reason at random intervals. Thor, Sif and Heimdall were the only Asgardians left in the tent, and then it was only Heimdall as Thor clapped him on the shoulder and strode out, his war hammer in hand and Sif on his heels.

“You sure you’re okay to be fighting?” Fury checked, frowning at him. It took Bucky a moment to realise the expression was concern, not censure or warning.

He nodded and offered Fury a grim smile. “I can block out the memories when I need to. I just don’t need to right now.” He explained. His smile turned warmer and a little bittersweet. “I was just remembering the day Peggy proposed.”

Fury’s eyes lit up with amusement. It looked like it was a struggle to keep the smile off his face, and he didn’t fully manage. From what Bucky had seen, that was Fury’s version of grinning irrepressibly and bouncing like a five-year-old. “Yes, she did tell me that story once or twice. It must be a good memory.”

A mixture of pain and fond nostalgia lanced through Bucky, and he nodded. “Yeah. Miss her, though.” He confessed. Fury nodded, in both understanding and agreement, and Bucky suddenly felt bad for tainting Fury’s moment of happiness with old grief.

Before he could figure out if he should apologise – hundreds of moments battered at his mind, countless apologies said countless different ways – or just leave it, he was distracted as High Prince Peter arrived, looking flustered and out of breath. There was something slightly _off_ about his demeanour, though, and Bucky forgot he’d been having a conversation as he tried to puzzle it out. “Peter! There you are!” Pepper called, beckoning him over. “You’re late. You were the one who asked to be included, and now you’ve missed most of our discussions.” She reprimanded him.

Peter ducked his head sheepishly, but his bashful grin belied his muttered apology. Wide grin, flushed cheeks, messy hair… _Oh_. Bucky snorted to himself as the realisation of exactly why the High Prince was late dawned on him. It seemed Pepper had reached the same conclusion, because she stopped giving Peter a suspicious side-eye and instead rolled her eyes and huffed. “Be grateful your dad isn’t here.” She told him sternly.

At that, Peter winced. “Right.” He agreed.

“Now, _I_ am not going to ask any questions, because we have a battle to win. I hope you can pay _some_ attention to that?” Pepper prompted, austerity melting away in the wake of her amusement. Peter nodded rapidly, and the conversation returned to strategy.

“Starks.” Fury muttered under his breath, half exasperated, half amused. “Sometimes I swear I don’t think they can take anything seriously.” He caught Bucky’s eye, and added, in a wry tone “And then some idiot threatens their family, and I realise I’m very, very glad they don’t take things seriously most of the time.”

Bucky huffed a small laugh, and nodded his agreement. He was saved from having to think of the appropriate thing to say when Lord-Commodore Barton abandoned the discussion and came over to stand in front of them. His arms were crossed over minimal metal plate armour, allowing for a wide range of movement – the typical archer’s garb in Aegis, albeit slightly different from what Bucky remembered wearing back when _he’d_ been an archer in the Aegean army, and those memories tugged at his attention – and he had a mildly frustrated look on his face. “Hey, Nick?” He greeted casually.

Fury gave him a dry look. “You’re lucky I’m in a good mood, Barton.”

That got a grin out of Barton. “Yeah, I saw. Congratulations and all that.” He said, and despite the teasing tone, Bucky thought he was being sincere.

“Uh-huh.” Fury, however, wasn’t impressed. “What do you want?”

Barton rolled his eyes and gave Bucky a look as if he was on Barton’s side and would commiserate with him over Fury’s impatience. It was bewildering, especially coming from the man whose daughter – ‘What do you think about kids?’ ‘I think I’d like a whole brood. At least four.’ ‘Absolutely no more than two, and that’s final!’ – he’d _kidnapped_ not that long ago. “Look, could you-” Barton began, grimaced in frustration, then launched into a rapid-fire explanation. “Phil’s gonna drive everybody _insane_ if he has to stay here. This is too personal for him to be properly objective. He’s gotta get out there and _fight_ or he’s going to screw up. Can you go offer to organise everything so that he can leave it in the hands of someone he actually _trusts_?”

“He needs to be able to compartmentalise.” Fury shot back, looking deeply unimpressed.

Barton tipped his head back and groaned. “For the gods’ sake, Nick. You know as well as I do that Phil can compartmentalise like a _champion_ , but…” He paused with a sigh, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Skye’s been having nightmares, okay? Don’t tell her I told you. She thinks we don’t know.” He rolled his eyes again, this time at Skye, not Fury. “She won’t talk to us about it, believe me, I’ve tried, and it’s bothering Phil. She’s _always_ been able to talk to Phil. I’m the fun one, Nat’s the protective one, and Phil’s the one that _listens_.” He paused, then met Fury’s eye with a completely solemn expression. “Seriously, sir, you _gotta_ let him get out there and kill someone for doing this to his little girl.”

The term of respect was not lost on Bucky _or_ Fury, and the latter sighed heavily. “You _owe me_ for this, Barton.” He threatened, then stood up and went to speak to Coulson.

Bucky was going to listen in, but then, instead of leaving, Barton dropped down into Fury’s vacated seat. “So, you’re going to be fighting with us today, right?” Barton checked. Bucky nodded wordlessly – there were _a lot_ of echoes of fighting in his head, pulling Steve out of trouble, backing Peggy up, watching Steve’s back – and wondered tiredly if yet another person was going to ask if he was alright. “I know you used to be an archer. Still?”

Bucky shook his head this time. “This is better for close combat.” He said, wiggling the fingers of his metal hand. “It’s good for the draw, though.” He admitted – The taut strength of the string in his metal fingers. The brush of the fletching against the fingers of his other hand, the flesh and blood one, but that was back when he’d had _two_ flesh and blood arms. – with a little smile.

“Ha! I’ll bet.” Barton agreed gleefully. “You’re going to have to show me that some other time. You know, when we’re not about to go to war.” He said, and Bucky blinked, unsure if that was an offer or an order. Not that it mattered, he could say no if he wanted to, now. That was a good feeling. “Hey, I bet I can kill more of these guys with my bow than you can with your arm.” Barton announced abruptly.

“How much?” Bucky asked, before his mind could quite catch up with his mouth.

Barton grinned at him. “Looser buys the first round?” He checked.

“Deal.” Bucky agreed. Then, because he could, because there wasn’t an invisible noose around his neck and mind anymore, he added “It’s Steve’s money, anyway.” and Barton nearly fell off his stool he was laughing so hard.

Bucky was still feeling quite proud of himself when Steve and Coulson broke away from the conversation around the table and approached them. “It’s time?” Bucky asked, although he was pretty sure he already knew the answer.

Sure enough, Steve nodded. There was an unhappy set to his jaw though – every time Bucky got hurt in fights Steve started, he’d see that stubbornly worried pout, every instance was in his head and clamouring for attention – and Bucky wasn’t surprised when Steve decided to open his mouth. “Bucky, are you sure you’re okay to-”

“Steve,” Bucky interrupted, getting to his feet and stretching out the kinks from sitting still for so long, “I love you, but if you ask me that again, I’m going to punch you.” He warned. Steve froze, then sagged and smiled apologetically at Bucky from under his lashes. “Punk.” Bucky complained.

As the four of them stepped out of the tent, Bucky breathed deeply, packing up all of those pesky memories, and when he breathed out, the blank focus of the Soldier settled over him. The peace inside his head was a bit of a relief, but it was also oddly lonely. Those observations were noted, and then they got swept back and away with the rest of the distractions. With calculating eyes, the Soldier took in the two armies spread out on the field in front of him.

The sun was half above the horizon on the Soldier’s left, red-orange light spilling across the plains and glinting off the metal arm, Steve’s full armour and Coulson’s and Barton’s partial armour. Thanos’s forces looked to be in disarray, but the Soldier knew that – not that he knew precisely how he knew – that was a favoured tactic of Thanos’s; faking weakness to draw out his enemies and then springing a trap around them. For a minute, his calm was threatened by worry, but Bucky remembered that yes, he had warned Steve that Thanos liked to do that, and Steve had warned Pepper, he’d heard the whole conversation. The Soldier settled, and took in the Ferronian forces, much closer to the base of the gentle incline they were standing at the top of.

There were more than he thought there would be, more than he thought Thanos could muster, but superior numbers did not always guarantee a victory. And the combination of three separate armies could provide Thanos with a way to divide and conquer. They weren’t a single, well-honed fighting force, they were cobbled together from three difference sources, and that was bound to create tension and counter-productive attitudes.

But that was for Pepper and Heimdall and Fury to worry about, Bucky reminded himself. His concern was more personal. Atonement and revenge were the ones he would cite if anyone asked, but first and foremost, his concern was Steve. As he fell into step with his husband, he looked across at him and, for the first time, set his own mission. _Protect Steve_ , Bucky told the Soldier, and the Soldier accepted.

* * *

For once in his life, Loki really had no patience for the formalities. The armies were amassed and waiting – the Ferronian forces standing still and disciplined, Thanos’s army milling in a disorganised tangle – and the leaders were riding out for final ‘negotiations’. All it would be, in truth, was Tony and Thanos declaring their intent to raze each other’s kingdoms to the ground, and a chance for an attempted assassination. Loki may or may not have several throwing knives tipped with poison tucked into his gauntlets for that exact purpose.

There were six of them riding across the open plain to meet Thanos. The three royal commanders of the three armies that had come together to fight Thanos – High King Anthony with Lord-Navarch Coulson on his right and Imperator Thor to his left – led the way, each astride their personal battle-chargers, and each with a shadow at their shoulder – Loki, Natasha, and Sif, respectively – to watch their backs so they could focus on the politics and threats without worrying about being assassinated.

Loki kept his eyes on the distant figures riding out to meet them. He wondered if Thanos would come himself, or if he would – once again – send a proxy. As they drew closer to each other, the indistinct figures resolved themselves into three separate riders on horseback. Closer still, Loki could discern that the rider in the middle was large and bulky, while the two on either side of him were slender and almost delicate compared to his solid strength. Loki began to suspect that the rider in the middle was Thanos himself, and as he looked at the figure in that new light, a sick, cold rage curled and settled deep in the pit of his stomach.

He was right. As they came within hailing distance, Loki saw that it was not the shadows that had been playing with his perception of colour. The central rider’s skin really was the deep greyish purple of an fresh bruise. He had never met the man in person, but it wasn’t all that surprising that, along with the whispers of treason and encouragement of his darker impulses, Loki had picked up a very accurate impression of what Thanos looked like.

The two women with him – and they were women, Loki could see now – were just as oddly coloured as their God-King. One looked to have pale, shimmering, silvery-white skin, and the other appeared to be _green_. Loki, knew, of course, that there was no possible way these were their natural skin tones, but it wasn’t until all nine riders had reigned their steeds to a halt, the two sides only feet away from each other, that Loki could see what they had done to themselves. All three of them were marked with magic, much as the Queen-Regent Hela was.

Loki knew that the Queen-Regent had not been given a choice in her markings – he did not know the details, but he suspected Odin was at fault – but she had accepted them and owned the power they gave her like she owned the crown Odin had bestowed upon her. She had made both uniquely her own so that they could not be taken from her as easily as they’d been given. Thanos, however, seemed exactly the egomaniacal sort to mutilate his own skin for power. That just left Loki to wonder if the two women with him were willing participants, or if they had been altered against their will like Queen-Regent Hela.

“Is this the part where you tell me I can still surrender?” Thanos asked mockingly, breaking the terse silence that had lingered between the two sides for several beats too long. Clearly, he was just as impressed by these formalities as Loki was.

“No.” Tony replied, voice hard and edged with disgust. “There will be no surrender. There is only one possible outcome here. You die. Your minions die. Your temple-fortress thing _burns_. And I salt this entire plain.” He announced fiercely. Loki thrilled a little at the utter, unyielding certainty in his voice. It had the amazing, and slightly terrifying, effect of igniting Loki’s own faith, and his determination to see it done. Today, Thanos would die.

“You dream big, little King.” Thanos replied. He was laughing at them.

Thor bristled, but Tony only smiled. His expression was completely devoid of any of the warmth Loki had come to know so well, and yet Loki loved him just as much for this – steel and fire in the face of his enemies – as he did for the warmth and the laughter Tony let Loki see. He was reminded, abruptly, of Pepper’s promise to him the night before their wedding, the promise to stand with him against Kings and Emperors and Gods, and he decided he would have to find some way of thanking her and Tony both for keeping that promise.

“My dreams are nightmares, and you really shouldn’t have stepped into this one.” Tony riposted, with dark anticipation.

Thanos chuckled, and his eyes slid away from Tony to look between Thor and Loki. “Imperators.” He greeted like he was mocking them, but he couldn’t full hide the anger in his eyes as he thought of Asgard.

“King, now.” Loki corrected mildly. “As I’m sure you well know.”

“Of course.” Thanos agreed, smiling at him. “I have been searching for a way back to Asgard for fifty long years, and your marriage was the first solid lead I had.” He said, and Loki felt sick with guilt. Then Tony caught his eye and raised an eyebrow, simultaneously warm and challenging, daring Loki to place the blame where it _actually_ belonged.

“You can thank Odin for that.” Loki said blithely, pleased to see Thanos’s composure crack at the mention of the old Emperor.

“Is that what you feel for your father now, foundling? Gratitude?” Thanos sneered.

“Not in the slightest.” Loki shot back, completely unperturbed. “I don’t feel gratitude to Odin, either, in case you were wondering.”

“You’re so quick to disavow him, now. Where has all that desire to please gone?” Thanos needled, and Loki hated the fact that it worked. His mask slipped, just a little, just enough for Thanos to see that his barb had hit home.

“I redirected it, into worthier pursuits.” Loki retorted, reminding himself as much as he was telling Thanos. “A new family, a new kingdom. One much more worthy of my time and attention.” He went one, giving the God-King a vicious stare. “One you really should have left well alone.”

Thanos ignored his threat, waving one hand in an imperious gesture of dismissal. “I cannot blame you for being so eager to disavow Asgard.” Thanos mused, as if their mutual distaste could ever put them on the same side. As if Loki didn’t loathe Thanos a hundred times more than he hated Asgard. Asgard had hurt him, yes, but Thanos had hurt his _children_. Loki said none of this, however, just watched impassively to see if Thanos would keep straining for leverage that wasn’t there.

“And yet still, Asgard will not disavow _him_.” Thor interjected, which was nice of him.

What was even better was the way Thanos’s composure cracked and a fresh wash of righteous rage spilled over his features. He pointed at Thor, the gesture heavy with the weight of his single-minded determination. “I will dismantle Asgard’s golden palace brick by brick, even if it takes me a thousand years. I will decimate it’s royal line and take back my lands, my people, and my treasures. Any who stands in my way will be made tribute to my Mistress. For the rest of you, this is your last chance to save your pitiful lives. Flee now, and my Mistress _may_ grant you a long life before she claims you.”

“Ugh. You’re a religious fanatic. I’ve never liked religious fanatics.” Tony complained irreverently.

“Should I kill him?” The silver-skinned woman asked, a snarl in her already smoky voice. She was eyeing Tony in a way Loki really didn’t like, picking out vulnerable points with the skill of a lifetime of experience.

“Sweetheart, I dare you to try.” Tony riposted.

“You think you can stop me?” The silver-skinned woman retorted, bristling and angry at the slight to her skill.

Tony shrugged one shoulder carelessly. “I don’t think I’ll have to.”

Loki knew a cue when he heard one, and he took the opportunity to flash a wide, feral grin at the silver-skinned woman. She met his gaze with a fiercely blank expression, but Loki was interested to notice that her companion, the green-skinned woman, shifted slightly in her saddle. Loki’s attention immediately switched to her, although he didn’t take his eyes off the silver one, but he didn’t see a weapon. There was only a clenched jaw and minutely averted eyes.

“I pray you fight as well as you threaten, little King.” Thanos intoned. He was good at controlling his anger, Loki would give him that, but he couldn’t hide it completely. “So that you may be a worthy tribute to my Mistress when I kill you.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Tony sighed. Loki knew he was legitimately bored by the conversation, which only made the incandescent indignation on Thanos’s face all the sweeter. In a show of trust that Loki knew he would never take for granted, Tony wheeled his sleek chestnut stallion around and nudged it into a steady walk. Loki stayed where he was and watched closely as Thanos grappled with his anger. But then the God-King turned his own massive battle-charger and kicked it into a swift canter. His bodyguards shared a look, then followed him, blocking Loki’s line of sight to Thanos.

Thor, Sif, and Phil took that as their cue to catch up to Tony, who had quickly reached a canter and was a good way back to the waiting army already. Loki and Natasha remained sentry until Thanos was completely out of sight before turning their own horses – Loki’s dapple grey, Natasha’s pitch black, both of them small and built of speed – and racing to rejoin the main force. When they got there the three royals were already giving their individual armies a rousing motivational speech. Loki only paid enough attention to absorb that it was the same sort of thing he always heard – from Odin, from Thor, from Tyr, from Sif, always about glory and righteousness and victory – and so that he wasn’t taken by surprise when the army behind him roared and cheered. Then they were moving, and there was nothing left for Loki to do but let himself get swept up in it, and prepare himself to fight.

Across the plain, the mess that was Thanos’s army surged forwards, revealing in the movement that they were not as undisciplined as they’d seemed. As they rolled towards each other, Loki could see individual units coalescing out of the chaos, the heavy-hitters in front, with those skilled in subtler, long-range arts advanced more slowly, dropping back to give themselves protection and room to work.

Then they crashed together and there was nothing but the roar of battle in Loki’s ears, the smell of metal and – swiftly overpowering everything else – blood in his nose, the feel of his sword and knives in hand. Sleipnir was as fierce in battle as Loki was, and they moved together like well-practiced dancers as the horse reared and kicked and then leapt over the corpses he left in his wake. As much as Loki hated Asgard’s _obsession_ with war, he couldn’t deny that the bloodlust was in him, as well. There was something so freeing in the carnage, something exhilarating in the danger.

Tony had been beside him when they charged, but he had been lost to the melee within minutes. Loki worried, but it was an old habit to worry about the people he loved when he couldn’t be there to watch their backs, and it was easy to placate with the internal reminder that Tony was a warrior-mage. His armour was enchanted with incredible power, defensive and offensive alike, and his skill with any number of weapons had very much impressed Loki when he’d challenged his husbands assertion that he could wield every weapon in the royal armoury. Tony liked to brag about things like that, but Loki had come to learn that it was rarely without merit.

Loki found himself caught in the middle of a unit of warriors all wearing bracers on their left arms that looked as though they were trying to mimic Commodore Barnes’ arm. They didn’t have nearly the same destructive power, or variety of enchantments, but it made them formidable all the same. He also suspected that it had deadened their pain receptors, because they kept fighting even past the limits of berserkers, and Loki was struggling to fend them off on his own.

Then, suddenly, he wasn’t. At first, he thought one of the Valkyries had come to his aid, but then the woman turned her head and caught his eye, and he realised it was Skye. She wasn’t carrying a spear, but the foreign weapon that she had taken – “Stolen” Skye would insist smugly. “Borrowed” Deadpool would always retort. – from Deadpool. It was enchanted now, the same as her staff had been, and when she nicked one of the warriors in the exposed sliver of arm above his bracer, the resulting shockwave blew his arm clean off.

It was still only the two of them against more than twenty warriors, but Loki felt better about their chances now. They killed a handful between them, and then Skye was knocked from her horse, which bolted. It conveniently knocked over a bunch of their enemies, but it also left Skye a lot more vulnerable. Loki wrenched his sword out of the shoulder of the man he’d just stabbed, and turned Sleipnir, intending to go to Skye’s aid.

It gave him a front row seat to the spectacle that followed. Skye had rolled back onto her feet, despite the fact that she was holding her arm like she’d damaged it in the fall. Several warriors bore down on her, and slammed into an invisible wall. Skye grinned, holding up her hand, which had a bloody sigil daubed on it in blood. The blood was already disintegrating with the power Skye was channelling through it, but the shield had given her enough time to score another sigil, more complex, on the breastplate of a nearby corpse with the tip of her weapon.

The shield faltered, the warriors lunged, and were promptly hurled back by a whirl of scorching hot air. Despite his shock at seeing someone so casually _creating_ complex magic in the middle of battle, Loki took the opportunity and finished off the ones that were trying to get to their feet. The two that had been closest to Skye had had their faces burned clean off. The Loki checked on Skye, and found her – to his surprise – to be completely unharmed. She was breathing hard, wincing whenever she moved her arm, but there wasn’t a burn on her. She didn’t even look any more windswept than she had been before.

“Impressive.” Loki complimented, fighting to keep the fact that it was a more genuine sentiment than he was used to expressing off his face.

Skye grinned up at him and shrugged with her good shoulder. “JARVIS.” She informed him, and Loki didn’t need any more explanation. The amulet she wore was tucked under her breastplate, but the cord it hung on was visible, and he knew full well that JARVIS could calculate the right lines and angles for any spell in a fraction of the time it would take a normal person. The chances of a human getting just the right arrangement of symbols to produce such a devastating spell while _also_ protecting themselves from it were as close to impossible as anything could get. JARVIS, on the other hand, Loki could certainly believe it of.

They didn’t have time for any more conversation, as the battle swept them up again and dragged them apart. Loki didn’t worry too much about her. Even with her damaged arm, JARVIS was looking out for her, so she would be safer than most in this war. Within moments, he found himself in the tedious position of having to rally a unit of einherjar. It took him far, far too long to realise what had sent them into disarray, and then he noticed that they had found themselves up against a squadron of small women in beautifully decorated armour without weapons. The einherjar were hesitating, and that hesitation was costing them their lives.

Exasperated, Loki had urged Sleipnir into the middle of the fight and called to rally the einherjar, and they leapt to obey. Odin had trained the mindless obedience into them well, at least, Loki thought uncharitably. Despite his long absence and Asgard’s general dislike of him, he _was_ their Imperator, and they _would_ obey him.

He had just gotten them to start making headway, when an almighty roar shook the ground and rattled anyone wearing armour echoed across the battlefield and a green behemoth leapt into Loki’s field of view, using something large and twisted to smash apart Thanos’s army. As the beast crashed closer, Loki realised the weapon he was wielding was a very battered trebuchet. The thing looked closer to an ordinary sized crossbow in the beast’s hands than it rightly ever should.

The einherjar froze up again as the green beast came even closer, to the point that Loki began to be able to pick out Bruce’s features on the monster’s face. Loki had never known an einherjar unit to retreat without an order to do so, but he could tell that these ones were close to breaking. “ _Hold!_ ” Loki roared at them, and it was enough to get them to plant their feet, even when it drew the beast’s attention.

Loki could admit to being unnerved by the creature, but he nodded in respect all the same. This beast had killed Odin. It deserved his respect more than most. The monster huffed at him, then charged at the women that had been making corpses out of Asgard’s finely honed and prized army. They scattered, smart enough to get out of the way. The einherjar watched in a mixture of shock, awe and relief as the monster was drawn into a lethal game of tag that only seemed to be winding the beast up every time he went to grab one of the women and found that she was _gone_.

Just as the einherjar were starting to get restless with fear at the beast’s increasing rage, a chilling laugh caught Loki’s attention and the Völva spilled into the midst of the battle. Their weapons and armour _glowed_ with magic, and the dark-light spilling off their Queen-Regent’s skin was enough to unnerve even the most hardened of warriors. The green beast halted, looking rather bewildered as these half-feral women in furs swarmed around him, completely without fear, and engaged the lithe armoured women that had been giving him so much trouble.

Hela strode up to him and patted him on the arm – half way up his forearm was as high as she could reach – with a smile that was less chilly than usual. “We’ve got this. Go find something more satisfying to smash.” She encouraged.

The beast blinked, then accepted the direction and leapt off with another roar. Hela turned and nodded to Loki, who nodded back. It seemed like he wasn’t the only one grateful to Bruce’s inner monster for killing Odin. “Cousin.” Loki acknowledged.

As if it was an inside joke of theirs, Hela’s eyes lit up with mirth when she replied in kind. “Cousin.” Then she was off, fighting alongside her troops with surprising grace and poise for someone in the middle of a battlefield. Loki almost envied her composure.

Loki directed the einherjar into battle with another unit of Thanos’s warriors – since they seemed too stunned by their encounter with Bruce’s other side to direct _themselves_ – and left them to it. He was beginning to get a little frustrated that he’d seen no sign of Thanos since before the battle began. The suspicion that this might all be a distraction so Thanos could slip off and rebuild his army somewhere else was lingering in Loki’s mind, and he couldn’t shake it. So instead of letting the battle carry him where it would, he made a conscious effort to keep moving.

He passed through half a dozen individual skirmishes that made up the canvas of this battle as he searched. He passed Lord-Admiral Rogers and his newly recovered husband fighting back to back with brutal efficiency. He paused to help them out of the circle of horribly fanatic warrior’s they’d gotten trapped in, and shared a brief look of understanding with Barnes. Loki almost envied the man. Thanos had gone into his head and taken everything he was, making him a puppet with no will of his own. Loki, on the other hand, was fully aware that so much of his own time spent doing Thanos’s dirty work was driven by his own short-comings.

He had truly not expected to be forgiven by Tony and Pepper for those events. He had told them in an attempt to salvage his heart by burning out the affection he felt for them _quickly_ , instead of turning it into a drawn out and messy affair, but instead… They had accepted him. And Loki had realised he was utterly lost. They had him. They had dug their roots so deeply in his heart he’d could never free himself of them without destroying himself completely in the process.

As if his musings had called him up, he found himself fighting alongside Tony again. They spared a moment to shoot exhilarated grins full of bloodlust at each other, and then the battle took their attention again. Loki still got the chance to admire his husband’s skill, both magical and martial, and the way he had incorporated every last enchantment etched into his armour into his fighting style. The white-blue blasts of heat and light and electricity he could summon at will were unique, powerful, and very spectacular.

He was also treated to the sight of Tony saving Sif’s life with a long-range blast that knocked the warrior that had gotten the best of her clean off his feet. She looked grudgingly grateful as she hauled herself up and nodded her thanks to Tony. A moment later, both she and Loki had been distracted by Thor’s voice, roaring inarticulately as he took on what looked to be a whole unit of men in black war-paint single-handed. In a rare moment of kinship, Loki and Sif both sighed in exasperation and fought side-by-side to haul Thor’s ass out of the fire.

Before long, a nimble group of Aegean soldiers had swept in and taken the brunt of the fighting away from the little trio of Asgardians. Thor laughed, loud and giddy as he only got in the midst of battle, and clapped them both on the shoulder. “Thank you.” He said.

Loki’s brain stuttered. He was fairly sure Thor had _never_ thanked him for ‘barging in’ to one of Thor’s ill-advised fights. “Don’t get yourself killed, Brother.” Loki suggested, instead of being graceful about accepting the thanks. There was only so much brotherly bonding he could handle, after all. “Mother would be upset if you did.” Thor laughed again.

A moment later, they were dragged back into the fight with the men in war-paint. Rogers and Barnes were there, leading that particular unit of Aegean soldiers. The soldiers, Loki noticed, looked a little star-struck by their commanders. Which was an expression mirrored by the former of the two commanders when Sif took out three enemies with a single spin of her double-bladed staff. He was distracted enough that he didn’t notice the war-painted warrior coming up behind him until after the man was already dead from a throwing knife to the neck. Noticeably not one of Loki’s, so he traced the trajectory back to it’s source and found Barnes.

“Watch your back, Rogers!” Barnes yelled, clipped exasperation in every syllable, and Rogers immediately looked sheepish about his lapse of attention. He threw himself back into the fight with enthusiasm, as though hoping to make up for his moment of helplessness, and while he wasn’t looking, Barnes and Sif paused to give each other assessing looks. Barnes was clinical, but curious, where Sif was simply baffled. Loki thought he heard Barnes mutter something about “got a type” while punching a man with the metal hand so hard part of his face caved in.

Snorting in amusement – because he would laugh himself sick if Sif ever found herself in a triad relationship, and mock her to the end of days and beyond for all the grief she had given him over the years – Loki shook his head and left them behind, still searching for Thanos. He got himself quite deeply entrenched in enemy forces, quite close to being overwhelmed, with no allies nearby for assistance. He was fairly sure he could fight his way out of it, but he knew it would leave him exhausted and not nearly on form enough to have a hope of killing Thanos if – or rather, _when_ – he found him.

“Seriously, just relax a little, Matty, I’ve got this. Haha, look at that!”

“Stop waving a disembodied arm around, Wade!”

“No! At least it’s not _my_ disembodied arm!”

Loki looked around sharply, and for a moment he couldn’t see anything past the simplistic golems – crude magical constructs created in a similar vein to JARVIS, although so far his inferior it was like comparing a candle to the sun – he had accidentally stumbled into the middle of. Then a blur of red rushed past him, and half a dozen golems shattered into dust. Sir Murdock followed a moment later, much slower, and looking severely pissed off.

None of his temper came through in his voice when he greeted Loki. “Your Majesty.” He said with a bow, and then twisted and smashed his nunchuck into the neck of one of the golems. Its head fell off, and its body collapsed now that it was no longer attached to the anchor sigil it had in place of a mouth. “Need a hand?” He asked respectfully, shaking clay dust from his hair.

“Thank you.” Loki accepted, and promptly had aforementioned disembodied arm thrust at him. The man responsible – Deadpool, of course, who else could it possibly be? – then howled with laughter and casually hacked another two golems to bits. Loki dropped the offending limb and wondered darkly why his step-son had such appalling taste in men as he assisted the two of them in destroying the golems.

“Oh, come on! It was _funny_! Need a _hand_ , geddit?” Deadpool was protesting as he fought, because clearly he _never_ shut up. “Matty heard you, by the way. Apparently, to a not-normal-blind guy, an area on a battlefield with no apparent heartbeats stands out, and then there you were, right in the middle of it all. What are you doing so far from everyone else, anyway? That seems a little ill-advised. – See? I can have tact! Rule number one; don’t call your King dumb. Tact.”

“That only works if you don’t follow up with calling him dumb.” Matt informed him dryly.

“Whoops.” Deadpool shrugged, unrepentant.

Loki decided to just answer the question. “I’m looking for Thanos.”

“Ooh, _gotcha_.” Deadpool acknowledged. Whatever he was going to say next was interrupted by a pained grunt as a golem aimed a swing of its massive club-like hand at Matt’s head, and Deadpool flung himself in the way.

“ _Would you stop that_?!” Matt burst out, dragging Deadpool out of the way and smashing the golem’s arm to pieces.

“Nope. Sorry, Matty, but I told you; the High Prince has spoken. Your ass is to be guarded at all times. Which is so not a hardship, because your ass is _fine_. I mean, not quite as nice as Petie’s, but he’s got this cute perky bubble-butt and there’s _no_ beating that. Mmm!”

“I will be having _words_ with Peter when this is over.” Matt grumbled.

“Ooh, will you give me time to get snacks and somewhere comfy to sit first?” Deadpool asked hopefully, and steamrolled on before Matt could reply. “And I saw Thanos that-a-way.” He pointed with a katana, and conveniently stabbed a golem right in the anchor-sigil. “He’s a damn good fighter, I’ll give him that. I mean, okay, so the Mistress wouldn’t be fond of him if he couldn’t kill a bunch of people, you know, artistically or whatever, but still. He’s an asshole. I have no idea what she sees in him, when there’s _me_.”

“ _Wade_.”

“Oh, don’t get your panties in a bunch, Matty. I know it’d never happen, but it’s nice to dream.” Deadpool retorted lightly.

Something rather possessive flickered over Matt’s face, and Loki decided to leave them to their spat. With the golems focusing on the bigger threat, he found it much easier to weave his way out of the press of them, and back into the heart of the fight. He kept moving in the direction Deadpool had indicated, and before long, Loki finally found Thanos.

The God-King had been knocked off his horse at some point, or perhaps he had dismounted to fight, but he didn’t seem bothered by his disadvantage when taking out various cavalry units. He was brutal in his fighting style, and completely without mercy, taking horses out at the legs and crushing skulls in one hand once the riders were within his grasp. And that wasn’t even taking into account the living shadows that writhed around him, that Loki recognised as products of the Aether. The knowledge that the powerful artefact had somehow made it out of Asgard and into Thanos’s hands was infuriating.

Thanos was covered in blood, splatters coating his armour and his face alike, and Loki was fairly sure that none of it was his own. There was no hint of exhaustion in his movements, just all the steady, inexorable might of a glacier, and leaving just as much devastating, inevitable destruction in his wake. The Aether was probably bolstering his strength. No one in Asgard had fully understood it’s capabilities, and Loki was not looking forward to facing one wielding it in battle, but he knew he had no choice.

Long-range attacks seemed to be the best bet, so Loki stayed out of Thanos’s sight and flung a couple of throwing knives at him, one aiming for his neck, the other for the slim gap in his armour at his waist. Somehow – the magic of the Aether, most likely – Thanos sensed the blades coming, and whirled around to smack them out of the air. His eyes found Loki, and he grinned nastily. “There you are, foundling. I expected to see you sooner than this.” He taunted.

“So eager to die?” Loki riposted, closing the distance between them to clash blades with Thanos. They strained against each other, but Loki knew right away he would lose any battle of strength against Thanos, so after a moment of as much resistance as he could manage, he stopped straining, and slipped out of the way as Thanos over-balanced, too startled to correct his motion for a handful of precious seconds.

In those seconds, Loki slid one of his knives – not the ones for throwing – into the gap in Thanos’s armour at his shoulder. Thanos snarled in pain as the blade found flesh, and drew his arm back abruptly, elbowing Loki hard in the face. Loki staggered, reeling, as he heard the snap of shattering metal and the hilt of his knife came away in his hand. Half the blade was still embedded in Thanos’s shoulder, and it slid deeper as the God-King’s armour forced it in.

“Mistress Death will not take me.” Thanos growled at Loki, half full of deluded pride, half spitting angry hatred. He came at Loki again, shadows reaching for him, trying to trip him and grab him and entangle him, but Loki evaded it. He was quick on his feet, but that combined with Thanos’s own skill with a blade and magical reinforcements put Loki on the defensive, which was very much not where he wanted to be.

“Oh, I rather think she’ll be glad to see you.” Loki corrected, breathless with the exertion of keeping up with the God-King. He _was_ keeping up, though, he noticed with smug shrewdness. Thanos was angry, and was making him less cautious, less efficient in his use of the Aether. It brought a wide, gleeful grin to Loki’s face. Being irritating enough to enrage was something he was very, very good at. “Together at last.” He cooed mockingly, continuing to taunt. “I imagine she’s quite tired of this whole star-crossed lovers business. And of course, since she evidently can’t have who she _really wants_ , I imagine she’d settle for you.”

Thanos laughed at him. “You have no idea what you’re talking about, foundling.” He gloated. Loki idly mused that it was fascinating how quickly a taunt like that could lose impact when used too often. “My Mistress knows that only my love is great enough for her. We are bonded beyond anything you can comprehend! I alone have her _true_ affections!”

“You know, that really is _so_ unhealthy.” Loki countered, ducking away from a swipe at his neck and landing a glancing blow to the exposed flesh of Thanos’s upper arm when he was distracted scoffing at Loki’s words. It wasn’t much, but it was a hit, and Loki let that bolster him. “You really should try looking for a third to balance out your relationship. It’s a pity Deadpool is already in a committed relationship.”

Loki could not have predicted how saying Deadpool’s name would affect Thanos. It was like a switch had been flipped. Gone entirely was the contained and highly-intelligent general, and in his place, was a mindless, jealous beast. “That _traitor_ has _no respect_ for my Mistress!” He snarled, lunging at Loki abruptly. The Aether was forgotten, and it’s shadows whipped out gleefully in it’s new freedom from Thanos’s will. It knocked down nearly everyone – friend and foe alike – in a wide circle around the God-King and his adversary.

Barely, managing to side-step, Loki was still too close and Thanos’s arm shot out in an attempt to grab him and drag him down with the God-King. Thinking fast, Loki took the opportunity to take hold of Thanos’s arm and _twist_ viciously. There was an audible snap, and Thanos howled as he fell to the ground. He still rolled with it, and came up on his knees, turning his head to glare at Loki, who had also fallen.

As Loki scrambled to his feet, Thanos launched himself back at him, and he was forced to fling himself back to the ground to avoid him. Shadows reached out and tried to hold him, but he slipped from their grasp before they could tighten their hold. “Such anger.” Loki tsked breathlessly. “You really ought to work on controlling that.”

A wordless roar was his only response, which had him grinning wide as he lurched to his feet just in time to parry Thanos’s next attempt to kill him. “I will water the earth with your blood!” Thanos vowed furiously. “I will rend your brother limb from limb, and I will rip Odin’s heart from his chest _myself_!”

Loki blinked. His moment of distraction cost him dearly, and a powerful punch landed across his face as a shadow wrapped around his chest and started to squeeze. Satisfaction started to temper some of Thanos’s rage, but he was immediately set off again as Loki wheezed out a delighted, manic laugh. “Oh, good luck with that.” He snickered.

“You think I cannot?!” Thanos demanded, pressing the tip of his sword to Loki’s throat.

“Well… considering that Odin – heart and all – are already _paste_ , I think you might have a bit of a hard time with it, yes.” Loki retorted gleefully. Thanos actually reared back in shock, and it gave Loki the space to utilise the magic Tony had helped him etch into his armour. A flare of bright green-gold light later, and the shadows around him were weak enough for him to fight his way free.

“ _You lie_!” Thanos roared, conveniently warning Loki that he was about to attack again. Loki ducked the wildly swinging blade, and brought one of his own knives up, sharp and hard. It slid easily through the soft skin underneath Thanos’s chin, and the combination of the God-King’s momentum and Loki’s own strength drove the blade straight up through the roof of his mouth and into his brain. He made a choked sound, then went limp, dragging Loki’s knife out of his hand as he fell to the ground with a very final thud.


	8. In Which There Is Another Wedding

“Tony, you’re going to be late.” At the sound of Loki’s voice, Tony startled so badly he dropped his crown. It clattered to the floor at his feet, but he paid it no mind, instead staring at his husband, who was standing in the doorway, looking perfectly stunning in a green and gold-embroidered tunic and black leather trousers under a black, sleeveless, knee-length leather coat held closed with a single fastening that accentuated the trim lines of his waist. The gold circlet – thinner than Tony’s own – marking him a sovereign of Ferronia was settled on his slicked-back hair, and Tony couldn’t help but notice for the umpteenth time just how well he wore it.

Words stuck in Tony’s throat as Loki rolled his eyes and strode into the room to pick up the crown at Tony’s feet and settle it on his unruly hair. Then Loki looked him over, straightening the wonky buttons of the dark gold jacket he was wearing over a loose rust-coloured shirt. “Can’t I just send a present?” Tony blurted out.

Loki only laughed at him. “Were you this nervous before _our_ wedding?” He asked, instead of answering Tony’s perfectly valid question. He turned away for a moment, retrieving Tony’s sword-belt, complete with scabbard and ceremonial sword.

“No. But that was all about me. I like it when things are all about me.” Tony replied fidgeting with the hem of his shirt until Loki slapped his hands away to fasten the belt around his waist. The jacket bunched up under the belt and Loki tugged it straight.

“Tony.” Loki sighed warningly, catching his eyes again and arching an eyebrow.

Tony looked away sharply, bravado faltering under Loki’s knowing gaze. “I just don’t want to mess up Darcy’s day.” He admitted.

“The only way you could mess it up is by not being there.” Loki retorted gently. “Now, come along, or you really are going to be late, and Darcy will never forgive you.” Tony nodded and let Loki pull him out of their rooms in the manor at Gimel and down the corridor. The entire estate was bustling, full to the brim with guests, because the manor was too remote for most of the guests to stay in the nearest city, but too small to fit all of the guests they had to invite for a _royal_ wedding. But Darcy was stubborn, and she’d decided she wanted to get married at Gimel.

After a few turns through the corridors, Tony noticed that they weren’t heading down and out to the open-air pavilion that had been set up on the cliff-edge outside. Tony blamed Fury for that one. Before he could ask where they were going, Loki brought them to a stop outside Darcy’s room and knocked. Almost before he could lower his hand, the door was opened by Jane, who looked frazzled and exasperated. “Oh, good. Maybe one of you can talk some sense into her!” She huffed on seeing them, and stepped back to let them in.

Darcy was standing in front of a floor-length mirror, resplendent in her gown of rich golden velvet, trimmed with black lace, and accessorised with a cape of black gauze which had a train that was almost twenty feet long. Her hair was loose, and on top of her head was a sunshine yellow, wide-brimmed hat that looked as if she’d stolen it off a minstrel, complete with a cluster black and white feathers. “Screw you, Jane! I am going to wear my lucky hat on my wedding day! Why do you think I wanted a yellow dress?!”

“You know… that yellow, and that gold? They kind of… clash? Just a little bit.” Skye piped up from where she was sitting in a chair near the fireplace, one arm braced across the back so that she could watch the drama unfolding.

“ _That_ is not _my_ fault.” Darcy retorted, sticking her nose in the air.

Pepper caught Tony’s eye from where she was hovering near the window, looking very pretty in her pale blue dress with white bell-sleeves and pale gold trims on the hemlines. She lowered the hand that had been covering her mouth to hide her smile, and mouthed ‘help’ at Tony and Loki. Tony looked Darcy over again, then crossed the room to take his daughter’s hands in his own. “Darcy, sweetheart?” He began carefully.

Darcy started to deflate, but there was still a stubborn tilt to her chin as she said “Yeah?”

“You look beautiful, and you should absolutely wear whatever you want on your wedding day, nay-sayers be damned.” Tony informed her solemnly.

Darcy grinned in delight and threw her arms around him. “Thanks, Dad.”

Pepper buried her face in her hands, but she was laughing kind of helplessly too, so Tony wasn’t worried. He just blew black and white feathers out of his face and hugged Darcy back. Emotion was welling up in his chest, and he knew if he didn’t do something about it, he was going to start crying, and that just wasn’t acceptable. “You’re gonna be High Queen some day, these people have got to learn that your word is law.” He didn’t sound too choked up as he said that, so he counted it a win, and started disentangling himself.

“I think Pepper still has more power than me at the moment, though.” Darcy retorted, letting him go without protest, for which he was very grateful.

“Not today.” Pepper sighed, smiling fondly as she came over and tweaked the brim of Darcy’s hat. “Even if it means letting you wear a millinery monstrosity to your own wedding.” She added, unable to quite help it.

“Ooh!” Darcy perked up, a slightly manic look in her eyes. “Does that mean we can-”

“No.” Pepper interrupted sternly.

Darcy deflated, then shot a hopeful look at Loki. “You’re on my side, right, Loki?” She pleaded.

“I would never agree to anything that vague.” Loki retorted at once. “But you’ve got the same look in your eyes your father gets on occasion, and that has a very high chance of being an unmitigated disaster. Save your insane ideas for a day that’s a little less special, hmm?” He suggested wryly.

“Yeah, okay.” Darcy agreed, grinning as Tony made an indignant noise.

“It’s true, darling, don’t deny it.” Loki reprimanded Tony gently.

Tony desperately wanted to argue, but he knew he couldn’t. “You do it too.” He retorted, trying for petulant, even though Darcy’s irrepressible joy was infectious and just being around her was making it impossible for him to sulk properly.

“I married into a family of lunatics.” Pepper sighed in faux-resignation.

Tony and Darcy snickered proudly, while Loki gave Pepper a flawlessly baffled, innocent look and Jane just shook her head at all of them. “JARVIS resents being lumped in with the rest of them.” Skye announced through her own grin.

Pepper dipped her head in acknowledgement. “JARVIS is a lone oasis of sanity in the Stark family, and I appreciate his support and assistance in reigning in the rest of the rabble more than I can say.” She announced, with her own uniquely subtle flair for melodrama. Tony beamed helplessly at her, and she smirked back playfully.

“Okay, okay.” Darcy interrupted, voice light with mirth. She was bouncing on the spot a little, excitement shining through even when she was obviously trying to be sensible. “You guys need to go, you know, greet people and mingle and stuff. Or you’re going to make me late to my own wedding, which, I’m not usually one for punctuality, but I have actually been waiting for this day for _years_. I can’t believe _Bruce proposed_. Oh my god, I’m getting _married_!”

For the first time, Tony could detect a hint of nerves buried within all the excitement. He wanted to stay and reassure Darcy, but Pepper was already chivvying him out of the room. As he was dragging his feet, he heard Jane say “You’re not going to freak out on me, are you?”

“Oh, I am going to freak out _so bad_.” Darcy threatened.

“No, you’re not. You’re way too happy to be nervous.” Jane informed her. “Besides, out of all of you, I think Bruce will more than fill the quota for pre-wedding jitters.” The door shut on Darcy’s laughter.

There was nothing for Tony to do after that but go along with Pepper and Loki as they made their way downstairs and out into the gardens. Guests were already milling about, admiring the tiered rock gardens and greenhouses that Tony privately thought weren’t quite as well maintained as they had been when Bruce lived here. High Countess Cho was playing diligent host, greeting the guests who weren’t important enough to merit a room in the manor itself. Pepper and Loki immediately went to join her, so Tony slipped out of their grasp, ignored their knowing looks, and headed for the white open-sided pavilion that had been set up as close to the lip of the cliff as possible. The seats were arranged in two chunks, angled a little off-parallel to each other, and they were filling up fast as the sun got closer and closer to it’s zenith.

Tony spotted Peter up at the front, leaning over the back of his seat to talk to Gwen and Harry, while Matt and Wade bickered good-naturedly over Peter’s head. Sif was standing to one side of the central aisle, right next to the chair Thor had claimed, her arms folded as she talked to a rather red-faced Rogers. The entourage from Aegis – Tony was surprised that most of their higher ranking nobility had come, including Coulson, Hill, Rogers, and all their various attachments, and he wondered who was running Aegis in their absence – watched Rogers make an idiot of himself with varying degrees of amusement painted across their faces.

There was a moment of commotion as an Asgardian man Tony only vaguely recognised – and only because he noticed the missing hand and remembered making some jokes about that during their campaign against Thanos – wandered in, greeted Sif and was almost immediately roped into a conversation with Wade. There was a lot of gesturing and flapping hands on Wade’s part. Peter cringed, and Gwen gaped, but then Tyr was laughing and setting into a chair next to Gwen to arm-wrestle Wade with their elbows propped precariously on the back of the mercenary’s chair. Peter dropped his head onto Matt’s shoulder, laughing helplessly.

Tony was trying to decide which conversation he wanted to crash more – Arm-wrestling or awkward flirting? – when a voice just a little behind and beside him made him jump. “I am glad everyone seems to be getting along.” He looked around, and saw Frigga standing at his shoulder, smiling beatifically at him.

Something about that smile had alarm bells going off in Tony’s head, and he studied her with narrowed eyes for a moment, before he realised what it meant. “You did that on purpose.” He accused.

Frigga looked pleased and amused. “Maybe a little.” She conceded.

Looking back at the people at the front of the pavilion, Tony went back to her original comment. “They’re building a good thing.” He agreed, smiling fondly as Wade won the arm-wrestling and leapt up and started dancing in triumph. Peter tried to drag him back into his seat, which resulted in Peter getting swept up in Wade’s dancing.

“With luck, Asgard, Ferronia and Aegis will stay allied for another generation or two, at the very least.” Frigga commented.

Tony’s brain stalled on the sudden realisation that grandchildren were a potential thing, now. Not that they hadn’t been, before, exactly, but he was grateful that his kids weren’t as much like he had been his youth so bastards weren’t that much of a concern. This, though? Darcy and Peter were building their own families. He knew that both Darcy and Bruce rather desperately wanted kids, and although he didn’t have the first clue what Fury’s feelings on the matter were, he was pretty sure he wouldn’t deny his lovers something they both wanted that much.

Kids. Darcy’s kids. Tiny little brand new people. He remembered, vividly, the day Darcy’s mother had dumped this tiny little bundle of _person_ in Tony’s arms and told him it was his so good luck and good bye. It remained the single most powerful adrenaline rush of his life, the intense combination of terror and awe had knocked him on his ass. Literally.

Then he was thinking of Darcy and Bruce and Fury – he probably ought to start thinking of him as Nick, but it just wasn’t working – with a child. Or multiple children, more likely, because Darcy had inherited his inability to do things by halves. He couldn’t even really explain why it suddenly made him feel like he was going to cry, but it did. Thankfully, Frigga pulled him out of his head before he could actually tear up. “Ah, you hadn’t considered that, had you?” She asked, half sympathetic, half laughing at his expense. Somehow, she managed to make it seem completely inoffensive.

“No, uh, not really. Not in the specifics.” Tony admitted.

“I was rather disappointed when I found out my grandchildren were already too old to be properly spoiled.” Frigga informed him, smiling warmly. “So I hope you won’t mind sharing that duty with me when it comes to my great-grandchildren.”

Tony snorted. “Thor looks like he’s ready to propose any day now, so I’m pretty sure you’ll have some grandchildren to spoil before long, but sure. There’s no such thing as too much spoiling.” He decided.

“I start to understand why Darcy seems incapable of taking no for an answer.” Frigga mused, and Tony didn’t even bother to try and detect any chiding or reprimand under her light-hearted tone. He just beamed with pride. “Is Peter much the same?” Frigga wondered.

“I would say no, but Pepper would probably say yes.” Tony replied thoughtfully. Then a rather sappy thought came over him, and he felt the edges of his banter already softening. “Darcy was already seven when Pepper came into our lives, but Peter was still small enough that we basically raised him together. He kind of got bits of both of us and wound up more like Loki than either of us.”

“He _can_ take no for an answer, he just doesn’t need to because he’ll convince you that you wanted to say yes all along?” Frigga asked, her voice matching Tony’s in fondness.

“With less underhanded means, though.” Tony agreed.

Frigga laughed, then gestured to indicate they should take their seats. It was a good idea, since the pavilion was almost entirely full now, and the sun was almost at it’s peak. They sat down, Tony saving space for Loki and Pepper either side of him, while Frigga claimed one of the empty seats beside Thor – the other being reserved for Jane – which was behind and to the right of Tony’s seat. Tony greeted Peter with a one-armed hug and a rude quip aimed in Wade’s direction which only seemed to delight the mercenary, then got drawn into a conversation with Coulson, which led him into a discussion with Barnes about his magical arm.

When it wound down, Tony felt a light touch against his shoulder and looked back at Frigga with inquiry written all over his face. “Do you believe in fate, Tony?” She asked, out of the blue.

“Not unless it’s the kind I can make with my own two hands.” Tony replied honestly.

Frigga considered that, then nodded. “Then perhaps the fates were guiding your hand that day, since you did chose Loki, in a round about way.” She decided a little wistfully. Then she shook it off and looked at Tony with a grateful expression he really didn’t know what to do with. “Thank you, for accepting him so easily in your heart and home.”

“Thank Pepper. She’s the one that did all the leg work. I just made rude jokes.” Tony deflected, trying not to squirm too noticeably. Frigga gave him a very motherly look that suggested, in the most loving sort of way, that he should really know better than to try and con her. It was a huge relief when Loki and Pepper arrived to claim their seats. High Countess Cho was right behind them, ushering in the last few stragglers, and finally Jane and Skye arrived to take their seats. With them, to Tony’s surprise, were Queen-Regent Hela and Romanoff, who shared a look full of secret things before taking their seats on opposite sides of the aisle. Tony decided that they were terrifying enough on their own, and he never wanted to see the two of them in the same room again.

Pepper took his hand, and when he glanced at her, he saw that her eyes were a little wet above her irrepressible smile. Loki reached over to cover both their hands with his, squeezing comfortingly, and giving them a crooked, indulgent little look. Then music swelled, sweet and lively, and Bruce and Fury – okay, Nick – stepped into the pavilion on opposite sides, approaching the place where the high priestess stood, both looking happier than Tony thought he’d ever seen them before. They were both dressed up, Bruce in a rich, royal purple surcoat over an embroidered white shirt and black trousers, while Nick was in the black leather and silver steel armour of a Lord-Navarch of Aegis, with appropriately alarming blood red decoration that was only added to the armour for ceremonial purposes.

They both looked very nice, fit for their wedding, certainly, but – and Tony might be biased, a little bit – they had nothing on Darcy. Tony turned in his seat a little to watch her approach the alter down the central aisle, and he could have sworn she glowed like the sun in her golden gown. Tony decided that maybe it was okay if he cried a little bit after all.

* * *

The entire wedding ceremony was a blur to Bruce. From the moment he woke up that morning – actually, the last several days had been a bit of a blur, too – he’d been caught up in a storm of elation and near-panic that seemed to feed off each other in a twisted sort of symbiosis. He spent so much of the morning carefully regulating his breathing and meditating the emotions away, that he felt vaguely detached during the ceremony itself. Like the breathless sense of wonder and desperation and fear were happening to someone else.

The feel of his lovers’ hands in his as the high priestess wound the rope around them helped to ground him, but it didn’t help that he felt like he was coming apart at the seams, trying to hold in everything he was feeling. It made the magic on his bones itch, and there was a sound a bit like a thunderstorm in the back of his mind, but there was something about being around these two people that made it not quite as frightening as it had been before. He didn’t know if that was because they weren’t afraid, or if it was because he knew they _were_ – even if Darcy denied it – but they chose to stay anyway.

Then Darcy was kissing him, and for a blissful moment, everything went still. It wasn’t a calm sort of stillness, but the strange serenity of freefall, where he didn’t care about the rapidly approaching disaster because there was not one single thing he could do about it. She drew back to beam at him, and he could only smile helplessly back. Then she turned to kiss Nick, eyes fluttering shut even though his stayed open, watching her. By the time Nick broke the kiss with Darcy and turned to Bruce, his pulse was starting to race again. When Nick kissed him, the stillness that settled over him _was_ calm. There was definitely still a sense of freefall, a headlong rush into disaster, but he knew Nick would get out of the way when that disaster hit, and drag Darcy with him, kicking and screaming, if he had to.

Their audience was applauding, which Bruce was slightly embarrassed by, although it was strangely easier to deal with when he heard Deadpool wolf-whistle at them. Shaking his head and laughing, Bruce let Darcy drag him – and Nick – down the central aisle and out into the gardens where diligent servants had set up buffet tables while the ceremony was going on. “Cake.” Darcy said reverently, making a beeline for the central table, which did indeed have a magnificent cake as it’s centrepiece.

“You just wanted to get married for the cake.” Bruce sighed in exaggerated resignation.

“Please.” Darcy scoffed playfully. “I’m a High Princess, I can have cake whenever I want.” She announced, which just made Bruce want to kiss her. Even after months, even now they were _married_ , it was still a little thrill to remember he could let himself do that now. So he did. Darcy gave a surprised little squeak when he reeled her in, which quickly became a pleased little hum as he kissed her. Nick laughed at them, and that set Darcy off giggling, putting an end to the kiss as she tucked her face against his neck and laughed. Nick took the opportunity to swoop in and kiss Bruce himself, letting Bruce feel the curve of his smile.

They were interrupted when their guests caught up with them. Bruce had honestly expected Tony to be the first to reach them, but instead it was Clint and Natasha. “Still overwhelmed?” Romanoff asked, smirking over at Nick.

He arched an eyebrow at her, supremely unimpressed. “Enjoying yourself?” He countered.

“Consider it my petty vengeance.” Natasha replied sweetly.

Nick rolled his eyes, but some of the stiffness left his posture. “Of course.” He said simply. It took Bruce a moment to realise that it wasn’t an acknowledgement of Natasha’s statement, but an answer to her question. Darcy got there several seconds before Bruce did, and linked her arm through Nick’s and squeezed, tucking herself up against his side.

In response to his honesty, Natasha softened, and reached out to grip his other arm momentarily. It was a gesture full of quiet support. “Congratulations.” She murmured quietly. Nick smiled his thanks, and Natasha caught herself before she let more than a hint of her surprise show. “It’s good to see you happy.” She added.

“Disturbing.” Clint interjected. “And really unsettling. But good.”

Bruce snorted. “You make it sound like he’s never smiled before.” He muttered.

“Before you and Darcy, anyone who saw him smile disappeared under mysterious circumstances.” Clint informed him in a stage-whisper. Natasha and Nick rolled their eyes, so synchronised it was eerie.

That was when Tony found them, trailing Pepper, Loki and Peter, who in turn was trailing Matt, Gwen and Skye. Bruce couldn’t help but notice that Tony looked a little red around the eyes, but he knew Tony would hate it if anyone mentioned it, so he kept his mouth shut as Tony hugged Darcy, then turned to Bruce. “Come here, son-in-law.” He encouraged, dragging Bruce into a hug before he could protest.

“No, Tony. Just no.” Bruce replied dryly, returning the hug.

“Oh, come on. You can’t deny it. You _are_ my son-in-law now.” Tony retorted, letting him go and turning to Nick. He stalled, and the two of them stared at each other for a long moment. Then Tony held out his hand. Darcy fell against Bruce, laughing too hard to remain fully upright, and Bruce turned his head to hide his snickering against her hair, and got a face full of feathers instead. Nick grinned a tiny, deeply amused little grin as he shook Tony’s hand. “Welcome to the family? I think?” Tony offered.

“ _Dad_!” Darcy protested through her mirth.

“Tony.” Pepper added in exasperation. When Tony just shrugged, she let it go and turned to smile at Darcy. “My turn.” She announced, pulling Darcy into a hug. “I’m so happy for you, Darcy.” She said quietly.

“Thanks, Mom.” Darcy replied, sincere despite the slight note of teasing.

Pepper went pink and watery-eyed, and let go of Darcy to lift a hand to her mouth in a failed attempt to hide her smile. “Oh, shush, you.” She protested weakly, which enticed Tony to sling an arm over her shoulder and whisper something that only made her blush harder in her ear.

“Okay, get over here, _Pops_ , I want a hug from all of my parents today.” Darcy insisted, holding her arms out to Loki. Sighing in exasperation, he obliged her.

Bruce was distracted by watching Darcy, and didn’t notice Pepper turning to him until she was already pulling him into a hug. He returned the gesture in a slight daze, thinking privately that he was getting more hugs today than any other day in his entire life. It was a little overwhelming, but he wasn’t about to start complaining. “You take good care of them.” She said softly in his ear, still sounding a little bit choked up. “They’re both far too stubborn, so they need you to be their voice of reason.” She explained.

“I know.” Bruce agreed. “Not that they’ll listen.” He added lightly.

Pepper laughed. “Oh, they’ll listen when it matters.” She said gently, pulling back to smile at him. “Because they love you just as much as you love them.” Now Bruce was the one blushing, which was ridiculous, because he _knew that_. It didn’t stop it being unbearably nice to hear someone else say it like it was just a fact of the universe.

A moment later, he forgot all about being flustered, because Pepper had turned away from him, slipped past where Darcy was now being embraced by Peter, and pulled Nick into a hug. Tony’s jaw dropped. Clint clapped both hands over his mouth and still didn’t manage to stifle his little hiccup of shocked laughter. Natasha’s eyebrows flew up even as she smirked. Darcy positively beamed at the back of Pepper’s head. Nick went very, very still.

“Don’t even think about pretending you’re above this, Nicholas.” Pepper informed him without letting him go. “I don’t care if you’re technically older than me, I _will_ hug my son-in-law on his wedding day.”

“Our family is so messed up.” Peter muttered.

“Says the one dating a blind ninja and an immortal mercenary.” Darcy snarked right back.Ignoring that exchange, Nick finally relented and returned Pepper’s embrace, which caused Tony to have a silent conniption behind Pepper’s back. “Yes, ma’am.” He replied, and he sounded amused under his dry sarcasm.

“Congratulations.”

Bruce jumped at the voice right next to his ear, and had to close his eyes and take several deep breaths. “Have I mentioned that I deeply resent it when you do that?” He asked, not needing to open his eyes to know who it was standing at his shoulder.

“Once or twice.” Hela confirmed, and he could hear the smile that wouldn’t be showing on her face. “You keep your composure well, though.”

“Years of practice.” Bruce informed her dryly, finally opening his eyes to glance sideways at her. She dipped her head in acknowledgement. “And thanks.” He added, a little belatedly.

“I wanted to give you your wedding gift personally.” Hela informed him, only a slightly lightening of her eyes showing that she’d even heard his thanks. It was only when she held it up that Bruce noticed the small, rectangular, wooden box in her hand. It was beautifully carved, although it only took Bruce a glance to realise the intricate knot-work was purely decorative. “It is for all of you, of course, but I think you will appreciate it the most.” Hela explained.

“Ooh! Presents?” Darcy asked eagerly, and the question was immediately followed by the weight of her chin on Bruce’s shoulder. “Nick! Presents!” She called. Nick turned his attention away from where Pepper was playfully teasing a still freaked out Tony, and slid an arm around Bruce’s waist as he joined them in studying the little box Hela placed in Bruce’s hand. The box was about the length of Bruce’s hand, from heel to fingertip, and about half as wide. “Go on, open it!” Darcy encouraged.

Bruce obeyed, lifting the lid off the box with his free hand, and blinking down at the three enchanted amulets inside. They were made of some kind of clear crystal disks, encased in a fine mesh of a silver-coloured metal – that Bruce had never actually seen before – shaped like tree roots. The one in the middle was largest, and was hung on thick woven leather cord that – Bruce peered closely to check – also had the most delicate spellwork he’d ever seen etched into it. The other two were on thinner, single cords without the decoration, and they were smaller, with simpler enchantments. He lifted the middle one out of the box, holding it up to eye level to marvel at it and to try and decipher the magic. “This is… an alarm system?” He asked, puzzled.

Hela nodded, looking pleased. “It will glow and grow warm when the magic in you begins to awake, and will go ice cold the moment you are no longer able to prevent it overtaking you. The cord will also grow with you, so you will not break it.” She informed him. “The others are bonded to that one, and they will react in tandem with yours. That way your spouses will never be taken by surprise by your transformation.”

“Oh…” was all Bruce managed to get out around the sudden lump in his throat. The sudden relief was making him a little dizzy.

“Oh, wow, _thank you_.” Darcy said for him, reaching out to snag one of the other amulets from the box and hang the cord over her neck. The gem stood out beautifully against the rich gold of her dress. Nick lifted the other one free of the padding in the box and lifted it up to look at it, before hanging it around his own neck.

Bruce swallowed hard and looked Hela right in the eyes. “Thank you.” He echoed Darcy’s words, putting as much of the pained gratitude he was feeling into those two words.

Hela laid a cold hand on his forearm. “I owe you a great debt. This goes but a small way to repaying it.” She told him. When Bruce opened his mouth to protest, she gave him a hard look that just _dared_ him to try and contradict her. When he shut his mouth, she nodded in satisfaction and swept off.

“She is the most terrifying combination of Frigga and Natasha I have ever had the pleasure of meeting.” Darcy announced, tone distinctly awed. Nick huffed a small laugh and nodded in agreement.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” Natasha interjected from where she’d just suddenly appeared at Nick’s elbow. “The High King is feeling outshone and is insisting on giving you all your presents now as well, so brace yourselves.” She added.

Bruce was glad for the warning. Tony deciding to give his gifts – custom made enchanted armour for Darcy, a new enchanted claymore for Nick, and a key for Bruce that Tony informed him was ‘to your new laboratories’ – seemed to trigger everyone else, and soon enough the three of them were being swamped in presents almost faster than the servants could ferry them inside. Bruce got very absorbed in some scrolls from the southern continent that Wade had given them, and he didn’t look up for a long while, not until he felt Darcy stiffen slightly beside him.

The Kings of Genosha were standing before them. Bruce had exactly the same moment of shock and mild panic that had evidently afflicted Darcy, because he hadn’t actually looked at the final guest list, and hadn’t known that any other royalty than those from Ferronia, Aegis and Asgard would be attending their wedding. Nick, at least, didn’t seem surprised in the slightest, and managed to cover for them. “Your Majesties, it’s an honour.” He greeted, bowing respectfully.

“Please.” The King of Genosha implored, smiling warmly at them as he waved off the formalities. “No need for that.” He insisted, while his husband simply bowed back, with a badly-disguised expression of exasperation on his face.

“Thank you for coming.” Darcy interjected, recovering herself a little faster than Bruce.

“Oh, no, it’s been our pleasure.” The King of Genosha replied.

“Charles never turns down an invitation to a wedding.” His husband informed them dryly. “So please, stop sending them.”

The King of Genosha – Charles – elbowed him. “He’s not being serious.” He assured them quickly. “Erik loves weddings just as much as I do.” At Erik’s scoff, he added pointedly “I’m not the one that cried on _our_ wedding day.”

“Yes you did.” Erik contradicted, eyes narrowing.

Charles paused. “Well, yes, I did, but so did you.”

“I’ll neither confirm nor deny.” Erik announced coolly, making Charles grin at him in a rather besotted manner. “And in any case, _our_ wedding is very different from _someone else’s_.” Erik stressed, at which Charles merely shook his head and dropped the subject.

“We wanted to give you this.” Charles said, handing a neat, leather bound book to Darcy. She took it and ran a hand over the cover before flipping it open curiously. Bruce leaned over her shoulder to read, and felt his expression go slack with shock at seeing the first page. “From a ruler to a future one. Hopefully it will help you as much as it has helped me and Erik over the years. It’s not the original, of course, but it _is_ a copy of one of my ancestors thoughts on politics.”

Bruce looked up. “Thank you.” He said, and was echoed a moment later by Nick and Darcy.

Charles beamed, but then his focus slid to something behind them, and his eyes widened. “Excuse me.” He said politely, but it sounded vague, like he was being polite by rote, and not because he was thinking about what he was saying. Then he slipped past them calling “Lorna! Lorna, for goodness sake! Those are _not_ for playing with!”

Bruce glanced over his shoulder, and watched King Charles intercept a small girl – in her early teens, Bruce thought – who was attempting to lift a sword that was evidently too heavy for her. She didn’t seem put out by that, though, just Charles’s insistence that she stop. Bruce was suddenly finding it very hard to breathe, and he couldn’t even say for sure what it was that was causing his throat to tighten up.

He wanted kids of his own – always had, ever since he was a kid himself – but he hadn’t dared entertain the idea in so long. He genuinely couldn’t tell if he was more afraid, or envious, or hopeful. He startled when Nick caught his hand and squeezed, looking over at him in surprise. Nick just smiled a little sadly at him, eyes full of understanding, and somehow managed to say the exact thing Bruce needed to hear; “One thing at a time.”

* * *

As much as Skye loved parties and gatherings like this, large groups of people made her feel kind of claustrophobic. So when the crowds got a little too much, she slipped away. Her feet took her a little way into the patchy woodland just beyond the borders of the estate’s gardens. A little way in, she found herself at the edge of a surprisingly deep, narrow ravine. She could probably have jumped it and made the other side without much strain, and when she dropped a pebble down it, it fell for a _long_ time before she heard a splash echoing up to her.

Instead of jumping it, however, she sat down with her legs over the edge, then flopped onto her back to look up at the canopy of pine needles above her head. _Everything’s changing so fast, J._ She thought tiredly.

 _That is the nature of things._ JARVIS agreed gently, with a touch of sorrow and sympathy.

Skye sighed. _I know, but I hate it anyway._ She thought back to her childhood, the way she would be passed from one family to another clan to some other tribe. She thought she remembered staying in one place for almost six months, before she was pushed out yet again. She’d learned not to expect anything to last, and then Natasha had come. _It took me three years to realise Mom, Dad and Pops weren’t going to disappear on me like all the rest._ She told JARVIS.

He didn’t answer right away. Skye let him process it however he needed to, for however long he wanted. _What are you afraid of?_ He asked eventually.

Skye’s breath caught a little, because she hadn’t quite realised that was what this was about until JARVIS had said it. _I don’t know. I’m just… Fury left, not that I’m not glad he’s alive, but he_ left _, and now Dad’s the Lord-Navarch, and he’s working nearly all of the time, and Bucky’s back and he’s not really awful like I thought he was and… It’s not that it’s all bad, or anything it’s just… It’s just a lot to take in, and I don’t know… I don’t know where I fit anymore._

 _Where do you want to fit?_ JARVIS asked.

Skye smiled a little, but it tasted bitter on her lips. _Where I’ve always been. That’s the problem. I want Fury to be the Lord-Navarch again, and not to be that girl Steve keeps trying to apologise to, and not have Mom hovering because she heard from Wade that her old trainers tried to recruit me._ She paused, shook her head to herself, feeling dirt and a few clumps of grass shift under her head. _I’ll get used to it. I’m good at adapting, you know, I just don’t like it very much._

She felt JARVIS’s affectionate humour like a sunbeam breaking through the clouds on a cool day, soaking her in warmth. _I do know that, Skye. You are quite remarkable, in that regard, as in many others._ He told her. And now she was blushing. _I merely thought that a goal, a place to work towards, might help you keep your feet when your environment changes on you._

Skye blinked. For as long as she could remember, her goal had always been to find somewhere to belong. To find a real family. She hadn’t even realised that, when she’d finally found one, she hadn’t stopped to consider anything else. It had just been ‘goal achieved, time to bask’ and… the shine had worn off that several years ago, if she was honest with herself. It had slowly, without her even noticing, gone from a feeling of contentment and wonder, to a sense of purposelessness and uncertainty.

 _…I did not mean to distress you, Skye._ JARVIS interrupted her whirlwind thoughts tentatively, apology trickling through his thoughts.

 _You didn’t. Okay, so I am a bit upset, but that’s not because of you, you know? It’s just, like… I hadn’t even realised that I wasn’t…_ going _anywhere._ She replied at once, with a flood of reassurance. JARVIS responded with acceptance and the warm affection that always gave Skye the feeling of a really good hug. _I don’t know what I want to do next._ She explained, letting her thoughts be coloured by the mingled fear and awe of that revelation.

 _I find it is always good to start with what you enjoy, when trying to plan for the future._ JARVIS reminded her, light-hearted and just a little teasing.

 _I enjoy talking to you._ Skye said at once, just to trigger that mirth-laced affection from JARVIS again. _I like… I really like working on magic with you. That’s such a freaking rush. I don’t know if actual fighting is something I’m all that keen on, though… I kind of enjoyed getting back at Thanos, but…_ She trailed that thought off, not really sure if there was anything else to say.

 _But it is not your idea of a good time, as Tony would say?_ JARVIS finished for her.

Laughing, Skye responded with a non-verbal feeling of assent. _I do like everything else I do for Aegis, though. Helping my parents, especially Dad, with all of that. It’s… so damn satisfying, you know? Taking care of everyone. I like that._ She decided.

She could _feel_ the ideas falling into place for JARVIS like little ripples across their connection, and she shot a little inquiry at him, just a little nudge of curiosity to prompt him into sharing, if he wanted to. _Perhaps…_ JARVIS began, slow and thoughtful, but there was something positive running underneath it all, _perhaps you should consider the possibility of Lord-Navarch Coulson the Second?_ He wondered.

 _That’s…_ Skye began to respond, but stopped as the idea actually began to take shape in her mind. It was slightly terrifying to contemplate, being the one in charge of _everything_ , but there was something about it that appealed to her. _Everyone’s going to say it’s nepotism._ She pointed out, though it wasn’t a protest.

 _Those who are going to think that already do, Skye._ JARVIS reminded her, gentle but not pulling his punches. _You’re the youngest Lady-Captain in Aegis at the moment. Those who doubt you will not stop, so you should not let any concern for their opinion affect your decision._

Skye acknowledged that with the mental equivalent of a smile, but before she could keep turning the idea over in her mind, she heard the rustle of footsteps over dirt. Sitting up and looking around, she spotted Clint making his way towards her. “Hi, Pops.” She called, since there was no one else around to hear them. Wordlessly, she offered JARVIS access to her senses, so that he could keep up and join in with the conversation if he wanted. He accepted, although she could tell he wasn’t giving it the majority of his attention. He was, after all, quite busy helping Tony’s advisors run Ferronia in the High King’s absence.

“Hey, squirt.” Clint replied, ambling over and peering down into the little ravine Skye’s legs were dangling into. He whistled. “How deep is that?”

“Pretty deep.” Skye told him with a shrug.

Clint kept looking for a moment, then swung himself down to sit next to Skye, leaning back on his hands and kicking his legs idly. “What’re you doing all the way out here?” He asked, not even trying to hide the concern in his voice.

Skye grinned and flopped over to lean against his shoulder. He didn’t startle, had seen it coming a mile away, only shifted to let her settle more comfortably against his side. Sometimes, she’d admit, she needed the way that Phil and Natasha never seemed to let anything shatter them, she needed to know that strength would always be there for her to fall back on, but sometimes… Sometimes what she needed was just the honest emotion, the unselfconscious caring that Clint was so very good at. “Talking to JARVIS. Thinking about the future.” She told him honestly.

“I don’t care what he tells you, you are _way_ too young for any funny business, young lady.” Clint told her at once, all false-sternness and badly concealed humour. “Don’t you let him pressure you into anything, you hear me?”

Skye sniggered. “Is this the part where I point out he’s already seen me naked, like, so many times?” She asked, grinning. There was a little burst of amused exasperation from JARVIS that only made her grin wider.

Clint gasped, lifting a hand to clutch at his chest and letting gravity drag him down to the ground. Skye yelped when her support was suddenly gone and she toppled over on top of him. “My little girl, corrupted!” He exclaimed dramatically. “Tragedy!”

Skye pushed herself back up into a sitting position, still laughing. “I could point out that, technically, he’s inside me right now?” She announced.

Clint blinked, then pointed a stern finger at her. “Too far.” He told her, wincing.

“You started it.” Skye informed him, unrepentant.

Accepting that with a grumble, Clint didn’t move from where he was lying. Instead he stacked his hands over his chest and looked up at the trees. “Seriously this time,” he began after several moments, in a tone that had Skye eyeing him warily, “how are things between the two of you? Still good?”

That was honestly not the question Skye had been expecting. She nodded. “Yeah, Pops.” She assured him, ducking her head to hide the happy, bashful blush that thinking about her relationship with JARVIS was bringing to her cheeks. “We’re really, really good.”

“All joking about sex aside, you’re _not_ feeling pressured, are you?” Clint checked, and that was more along the lines of what Skye had expected.

She rolled her eyes. “You do know he can hear you, right?” She checked. Clint grimaced in a way that suggested he hadn’t known that, but then he merely raised his eyebrows, indicating he didn’t care. Skye huffed a sigh that sent some of her hair fluttering. “No, Pops. I don’t feel pressured, or overwhelmed, or insecure, or any of those other things I’m apparently supposed to feel because I’m in a dyad.” She informed him.

“Okay.” Clint agreed. Skye blinked and looked over at him in surprise. Clint held up his hands in the universal gesture of surrender. “If this is what you want, then I’m with you, you know that. I just worry, you know. I don’t get it, but whatever, you want what you want, and that’s cool. Just… make sure you _know_ what you want, before you go making any decisions, okay?”

“Hypocrite.” Skye retorted, but she was smiling.

Clint snorted. “Okay, yeah, fair point. But you’re also smarter than me, so you have less of an excuse.” He shot back.

Grinning, Skye pushed herself to her feet and patted Clint on the head. “It’s okay, Pops. I know what I want.” She assured him. “Me and JARVIS are going to take over the world together. It’s going to be fun.”

 _Oh, we are?_ JARVIS asked mildly, but she could feel his laughter.

 _Nah, we’re just… going to keep our little corner of the world safe._ Skye replied, because she liked the feel of that thought. She liked the way it fell into place inside her head like it was just meant to be there, just like JARVIS’s presence.

_That sounds like an excellent plan._

“Okay.” Clint agreed with a snort. Feeling rejuvenated, Skye headed back to the party. “Wait, that _was_ a joke, wasn’t it? Right?! Skye!” Clint called after her, making her laugh. She picked up her pace when she heard him scrambling to his feet, and quickly left the trees behind. “Oh, come on! Don’t make me work for it! Just tell me I don’t have to be paranoid about the sentient castle staging a coup, please!” She heard Clint yell. JARVIS’s good humour mingled with her own, making her feel a little bit giddy with it, and she kept running, just because she could. Darting around a cluster of trellises heavy with greenery, she ran straight into someone, and only her extensive training at Natasha’s hands stopped her from toppling over backwards.

She grabbed the edge of one of the trellises, and her other hand shot out to catch the other woman by her upper arm to prevent her from toppling back over the low hedge behind her. The trellis shook with the sudden jarring motion of their aborted fall, and dropped a small rain of leaves on their heads for the offence. “Whoops. Sorry.” Skye huffed out sheepishly.

The woman she’d run into shook her head and gave her a quizzical look. “No, it’s fine. What are you running from?” She asked. She was striking, with long auburn hair pinned back from her face but otherwise left loose, wearing a low-cut dark red dress that matched her eyes. There was enough jewellery on her that she had to be one of the more wealthy guests, but Skye thought she ought to recognise her if that was the case. She’d helped JARVIS with the guest list, after all.

“The consequences of a bad joke.” Skye answered, glancing over her shoulder. At the same time, in the privacy of her own mind, she asked _Help me out here, J? Who is she?_

 _She is Her Highness, Princess Wanda of Genosha. Second in line for the throne, after her elder brother, Crown Prince David._ JARVIS replied after barely a moment.

Skye had the typical Aegean cynicism when it came to hereditary monarchies, and most of the glamour of the sheer wealth most royal families accumulated had worn off after long enough exposed to the Starks, but right in that moment the ten-year-old vagabond in her felt a little intimidated. She was relieved that Wanda didn’t seem to be too upset about having a dirt-covered, wild-eyed girl in practical – but still pretty, thank you very much – trousers nearly knock her over. _Whoops?_

When she looked back at Wanda, she found the other woman fighting back a smile. “You should keep running then.” She advised.

“Skye! I’m never going to be able to visit Barzilai Castle again and it’s all your fault!” Clint’s voice was louder than Skye had expected, and she decided quickly that Wanda gave very sound advice.

“You didn’t see me.” Skye said with playful urgency to Wanda, who grinned and nodded reassuringly. “Thanks Wanda.” She added in a rush as she darted past her and fled back towards the sounds of the party.

* * *

Because Darcy never did anything by halves, the party was still going strong as evening crept up on them. The sunlight turned orange as dusk drew closer, and in deference to the more romantic atmosphere, the minstrels and musicians started playing slower, sweeter songs. Jane took advantage of that, and dragged Thor out onto the dance floor – well, out into the open lawn that was doubling as a dance floor for today – now that she didn’t have to worry about actually _dancing_. She just burrowed into his arms and swayed in time with the music.

They danced their way through three songs before Thor spoke, his jaw brushing her hair as he did. “You seem melancholy, my lady.” He mused gently.

Jane smiled to herself and shook her head, tucking her forehead against Thor’s shoulder and taking her time trying to figure out how to verbalise her feelings. It wasn’t something she was particularly good at unless she was angry. “I don’t know. I’m just… I think I’m a little jealous, is all.” She admitted finally. Then she realised what she’d said, and jerked her head up to look at Thor. “Not that I’m- I’m not saying that I’m not _happy_ with you, not _ever_ , it’s just that it’s-” She stopped with an inarticulate sound, knowing she was digging herself into a deeper hole.

Thor smiled at her, looking bemused but not hurt. “What is it that you mean, then?” He asked patiently. “Explain it to me like one of your spells.”

God, Jane loved him so much. “I just… I’m good at intellectual stuff, not emotional stuff. Darcy… she’s not as dumb as she likes to let people think, but what she’s best at is reading moods and understanding what people need and it’s going to make her a _great_ High Queen some day…” Jane began. “And it’s as though… she can do that for herself, too. She just knows what she wants and when she sees it she just _goes for it_ , and somehow – I don’t know how, believe me, I wish I knew how she does it because it shouldn’t be possible and it doesn’t make any sense at all – she just seems to make it _work_ , like just because she wants it badly enough, it just _happens_.”

Thor took his time to mull her words over. “Is it that you do not know what you want, or that you do not know how to get what you want?” He asked finally.

“Both?” Jane tried, then shook her head again. “I don’t know. It’s more that… I guess it’s just that Darcy makes it all look so _easy_. She’s the first-born of a High King, and she actually _wants_ to inherit the throne. It’s not a duty, or a chore, or even a power-trip. She just genuinely wants to take care of people. She’s marrying two men with years of experience with that sort of thing. She started crushing on Bruce when she was eighteen, and spent _seven years_ not letting go of it like she just… _knew_ that he should be part of her future. And then Nick came along and it was like she’d found the missing piece and now she could bring it all together and it makes this perfect picture of her life and her future and- and-…” Jane gestured in the air with one hand, helpless frustration in her every move, until she gave up trying to finish the sentence and just dropped her head back onto Thor’s shoulder with petulant huff. “She makes it look easy.” She said again.

They sweet, slow melody they had been dancing to tapered off, and when the next tune began, instead of continuing to sway with her, Thor took her hand and guided her towards the semi-depleted tables of food and the chairs there. “I do not think these things are ever truly easy.” Thor began slowly. “Often, as a child, I had similar feelings of envy towards my brother. He made so many things look so effortless, while I was clumsy and graceless. T’was not until I was well into adulthood that I realised it is mostly showmanship. And the rest is often simply luck.”

Jane laughed before she could help herself.

Thor smiled at the sound, before his face fell back into more sombre lines. “You are thinking of my invitation to stay in Asgard for a while, are you not?” He asked.

Wincing, Jane nodded half-heartedly. “That and… everything else.”

Before either of them could continue the conversation, Darcy slid into the chair beside Jane, eyes bright with glee. “Ooh, Thor asked you to go visit Asgard for a while?” She asked excitedly.

“I did.” Thor confirmed, nodding to Darcy, before fixing his gaze on Jane again. “But I do not wish to pressure my lady Jane, so there is no time-limit on this offer, and she may chose to come or not as her heart desires.” He added solemnly.

Jane smiled helplessly at him. “I know. Thank you.”

Darcy let them have their moment, for which Jane was grateful for, but it was still far too soon when Darcy spoke up again. “Jane, I need you to come help me. Peter stole my hat.” She whined, actually tugging on Jane’s sleeve like a three-year-old.

“Good.” Jane retorted in exasperation.

“Jane, it’s my _lucky hat_.” Darcy protested, tugging a little more firmly on Jane’s sleeve.

Jane threw her hands in the air. “Oh, gods, _fine_.” She exclaimed, to the accompaniment of Thor’s boisterous laugh. “I’ll be right back.” Jane promised him, leaning up to kiss him quickly. Then she realised what she’d said and reconsidered. “Okay, no. I probably won’t be right back. _Siblings_.” She huffed.

Thor laughed again. “I am well familiar with that particular brand of mischief.” He pointed out. “Go, aid your friend in her mighty struggle, and find me when you are victorious so we might celebrate.” He suggested, making Jane go a little pink in the cheeks at the possible connotations of his words. She was pretty sure he hadn’t meant it like that, but it could sometimes be a little hard to tell, with Thor. “In the mean time, I think I shall see if someone would be willing to spar with me.” He decided.

“Don’t go too hard on them.” Jane replied fondly, kissing him once more before letting Darcy drag her away. They wound through the crowds of guests for a moment or too, then came to a stop next to Bruce, who was deep in lively conversation with a few minor nobles and the King of Genosha. They were discussing the effects of magic applied directly to living organisms, and Jane was so fascinated by the topic of conversation that she didn’t actually notice the bright yellow disaster on Bruce’s head until Darcy reached over and plucked it off.

“Thanks, honey.” Darcy said, leaning in to drop a kiss on Bruce’s cheek. He shot her a warm but distracted smile, and Darcy sniggered at him fondly before turning to Jane, hat firmly back on her head and Peter nowhere in sight. Frowning, Jane opened her mouth to call Darcy out on her lie, but Darcy beat her to the punch. “Okay, spill. Why are you not jumping at the chance to go to Asgard, where all the shiny newness and magic and _Thor_ are?” She demanded.

Jane gaped at her for a moment, then slumped. “Darcy… I’m dating their _Emperor_.”

“Not quite.” Darcy corrected, wiggling a hand in the air. “I mean, Asgardian politics are pretty complicated, and even though Thor has the title, I’m pretty sure that in effect, Frigga is the Empress and Thor’s still just Crown Imperator.” She mused.

“ _Not the point_ , Darcy!” Jane snapped impatiently.

Darcy blinked at her, then frowned, considering. “Jane, you’ve been keeping up with me practically _all my life_. It’s not going to be that much different with Thor, is it?” She asked.

“Of course it’s different!” Jane exclaimed, hands clenching into fists at her sides. “I never really expected to have to rule _with you_!” She burst out, then tried to reign herself back in, and failed. “And even if I _did_ , this is _Ferronia_ , it’s my _home_ , I _understand_ it. But Asgard is _really weird_ , okay? Not to mention I won’t just be a peasant marrying into the royal family, I’ll be a _foreign female peasant_. I mean, my gods, you remember what it’s like there! The only power women have is behind the scenes or if they act like men! I can’t live like that!”

“So fix it.” Darcy shot back.

Jane mouthed helplessly at that, then finally frowned. “What?”

“You love Thor.” Darcy stated, but then raised a prompting eyebrow at Jane, so she nodded. “You want to spend the rest of your life with him.” Jane opened her mouth, and Darcy pressed on. “Ignoring all other factors, you love him and you at least want to see where your relationship could go, if you’re not ready to admit you totally want to have his babies yet.”

Jane felt her face heat up. “Yes.” She muttered an agreement, which made Darcy grin.

“Okay. Okay, so.” Darcy started, sounding alarmingly like her father when he was trying to explain why a _really bad idea_ was actually genius in disguise. “In order for that to happen as things stand, you’d need to live in Asgard, but you don’t want to.” Jane nodded again. “So, either Thor needs to renounce his titles-”

“I don’t think he would. He loves Asgard.” Jane interrupted.

“Right.” Darcy agreed. “Or… Alternatively, Asgard needs to change into a place you wouldn’t mind living in.” She stated pointedly. “And who better to make that happen than their future Empress, huh?”

Jane opened her mouth to shoot Darcy down, but stopped. Against her will, her mind was flooded with ideas and potential futures. She knew it wouldn’t be an easy fight, but the groundwork had already been laid. Frigga was Empress in all but name, Queen-Regent Hela had been fighting Odin’s attitude towards women in her own way for years, and there was Sif and her valkyries who would no doubt support the change. But then… Jane couldn’t help but balk at what such a drawn out, difficult battle would do to her, how much stress she’d be under, how little time she’d probably have for what she loved, for Thor and her magic. Not that Thor would have any more time for her, being Emperor and running not one but half a dozen kingdoms.

“Do you think he’d be open to finding a third?” Jane blurted out, then wished she could swallow the words.

Darcy blinked, then smiled sympathetically at her. “Daunted by trying to face that as just you and Thor?” She asked knowingly. Jane nodded, not quite able to verbalise her agreement. “I dunno if the Emperor of Asgard could get away with that…” Darcy mused, but then she glanced over her shoulder and Bruce, and when she looked back, she looked thoughtful. “But then… if Charles and Erik could get away with marrying as a dyad, I suppose anything’s possible?”

“Oh. Maybe.” Jane agreed vaguely.

Darcy shrugged. “And if not, you could just keep it quiet, pretend your third is just a friend or whatever.” She mused.

“So you think Thor might actually be okay with that?” She asked abruptly.

Darcy gave her a fondly exasperated look. “I don’t know, but I _do_ know that man would try anything if he thought it would make you happy. So ask him, and see.” She encouraged. Jane hummed a vague agreement, distracted by figuring out how exactly she ought to raise that subject with Thor. It was a little daunting, but that only made Jane more determined. “Whoa!” Darcy laughed. “I know that face, that’s your ‘I’m going to stay up for three days straight solving this problem’ face. Which, fine, you can do that, but not today, okay? No problem-solving or magic-doing on my wedding day. Okay?”

Jane blinked at her. Slowly, reluctantly, she forced herself to pack the ideas away for later. “Okay.” She sighed wearily.

“Awesome!” Darcy chirped, catching Jane in a hug so abruptly she didn’t manage to hug back before Darcy was letting her go to link their arms together. “Okay, help me find Nick. I want to see if I can convince him to arm-wrestle Thor.”

* * *

It had not been a surprise to Peter that, although they were there for the wedding ceremony itself, Matt and Wade vanished the moment the party afterward started. Neither of them particularly liked crowds, although Wade liked to pretend otherwise. Matt had announced that he was going inside because all of the noise was making his head hurt, and Wade ought to go with him, and Wade went with only a token protest, which was how Peter had known that he’d been a little intimidated by the size of the crowds milling about.

Peter was glad they could keep each other company, because after his month-long stint in a cell, he’d found the noise and bustle of a crowd remarkably soothing. Especially when they weren’t actually paying attention to him, which had always made him nervous before and hadn’t stopped making him nervous since. This was Darcy’s wedding. All the focus was on her and Bruce and Nick, and that meant Peter got to enjoy the ebb and flow of the party without having to stress about what he looked like to everyone else.

By the time dusk was truly setting in, most of the guests had grown tired and left, either for their suites in the manor or for the long journey back into the nearest city. Mostly, the people left were the ones Peter would consider friends of the family. It was a nice end to a good day, just being able to relax in the torchlight and watch the people he cared about interact. Darcy was slow-dancing with Bruce and Nick, Skye and Jane and Gwen had teamed up to argue with Loki about some very fascinating magical principles, Rhodey and Tony and Steve were bickering good-naturedly about something, Thor was sparring with Natasha although the two of them were more focused on their conversation than their fight, Pepper was sitting with Phil and a dark-skinned man Peter didn’t know, and the three of them were watching Clint and Bucky make increasingly complex shots with a miniature crossbow that one of them – probably Clint – had produced from somewhere.

Peter was just thinking the only way to make the moment better would be if Matt and Wade were there, when there was a flash of blue in the corner of his vision. He jumped a little, but immediately relaxed into a warm smile of welcome. “Hey, there, baby boy.” Wade greeted, leaning over to press a masked kiss to Peter’s cheek.

“Hey yourself.” Peter replied as Matt claimed the chair next to him and leaned over to kiss Peter lightly. “Did you two have fun without me?” He asked around a grin.

“Not as much as we would have had _with_ you.” Wade replied at once, his tone salacious.

Peter blinked, and went pink. “I didn’t actually mean- Did you two _really-_ ” He stammered, and blushed harder when Wade snickered at him. “Shut up.”

“You’re cute.” Wade announced, still laughing.

Peter buried his face in his hands and shook his head mutely. He felt Wade sling an arm around his shoulders, and sighed, letting the embarrassed tension flow out of him as he leaned into the semi-embrace, although he still refused to lift his head. Matt’s hand settled on the back of his head, playing with his hair idly. Peter smiled to himself and dropped his hands with another sigh that wasn’t nearly as exasperated as he wanted it to sound.

The peaceful moment was broken a second later. “Murdock! Come spar with me!” Natasha called imperiously.

To his credit, Matt hesitated. Peter nudged him. “Go, or she’ll murder us all in our sleep.” He insisted. Matt shook his head at Peter, but did get to his feet and head over to Natasha and Thor, the latter of whom was sitting on the grass, out of breath and beaming.

“I wouldn’t murder you.” Natasha corrected. “I don’t make goals I can’t match.” She shot a pointed look in Wade’s direction, and he wiggled his fingers at her in a cheerful wave. Natasha looked back at Peter with a smile that showed just a hint of teeth. “I’d just scare you a little.”

“No scaring needed here.” Peter protested playfully, holding his hands up in surrender.

He leaned into Wade some more as he idly watched Matt and Natasha square off against each other. Bucky and Clint wandered over, abandoning their competition to watch the fight, Clint lingering near Thor and – if Peter was interpreting their gestures right – making a bet with the Asgardian while Bucky continued over to sit in the chair on Wade’s other side.

“I would suggest that we spar, Soldier, but I don’t want to miss Matty’s fight.” Wade announced, a little abruptly. Out on the lawn, Matt and Natasha started testing each other out, throwing skilful but not full-strength hits at each other to assess their opponent’s skill. Slowly, they built up into more serious attacks, and Peter had to admit he was a little mesmerised. The pair of them were remarkable to watch. Wade hummed appreciatively, clearly thinking along the same lines as Peter. “I do love watching my man fight.” He declared.

“Lethal poetry in motion.” Peter agreed.

Bucky smiled a little wistfully, and his gaze cut across to Steve. “Yeah, I hear ya.” He murmured quietly.

Peter quirked his eyebrows quizzically. “I thought you hated it when Steve got into fights?”

“Nah. I just hate it when he gets into fights he can’t win.” Bucky corrected with a small, disparaging snort. Then he sighed through a smile, this one brighter than the one before. “You shoulda seen him before your Grandpa put all that magic on him. He was tiny, barely came up to here on me-” Bucky said, gesturing a little under his shoulder line. “-and I swear, watching him when he was angry was like looking at the sun.” He paused, almost grinning. “It was almost like he knew he was supposed to be like that from day one.” He finished, jerking his chin towards Steve, who was, of course, taller than Bucky and made of pure muscle.

Peter couldn’t help but smile at the deep and genuine affection in Bucky’s voice. “You’re having less trouble with your memories then?” He asked, because the last time he’s seen Bucky, he hadn’t been nearly so comfortable remembering things.

“Yeah. They’re less jumbled now. I don’t get caught up in them so easy.” Bucky confirmed. “I guess it just takes time.”

“Well, you’ll have plenty of that.” Wade agreed. “And someone to share it with.”

The look Bucky shot Wade was knowing, and Peter tried not to wince. He didn’t know how far Wade’s immortality stretched, but he didn’t like thinking about it. It made him afraid to die in a way he never had been before. “Yeah.” Bucky said eventually, looking back towards Steve. Just then, Darcy asked the minstrels to play something more upbeat, and spun Nick and Bruce into a much faster, more lively dance. A bright, warm grin unfurled across Bucky’s face. “Hey, Stevie, come dance with me!” He called, standing up.

Steve looked around. “Aw, come on, Buck, you know I can’t dance worth anything. Besides, we’d need a third to dance properly-”

“Quit making excuses, Rogers.” Bucky interrupted him. “I’m in a good mood and I want to dance with my fella. And I’m sure Sam would be up for a dance. Right, Sam?” Bucky called across to the man sitting with Pepper and Phil.

“Hell yeah.” Sam agreed with a grin, jumping up.

“No, Bucky, come on.” Steve protested, but he let Bucky drag him out onto a clear patch of grass, where Sam joined them. Steve was right about his ability to dance, Peter thought as he muffled a laugh in the collar of his tunic, but neither Bucky nor Sam seemed to mind very much. Soon enough, all three of them were laughing.

Peter nudged Wade lightly with one shoulder. “D’you know who Sam is?” He asked, but Wade only made a baffled noise and shrugged, jostling Peter where he was settled against him. Peter nudged him again in retaliation. Before they could devolve into a playful fight, Clint interrupted them with an answer.

“He’s one half of Natasha’s plus two.” He announced, making Peter jump and mutter about sneaky assholes. Clint grinned unrepentantly and carried on. “You know, cause she likes to bring ‘dates’ to things like to help keep me and Phil secret. Sam and Sharon are both under the impression she only asked them to keep everyone else from pestering her about it.”

“Well, I guess that’s half true?” Peter mused.

“All the best lies are, kid.” Clint reminded him, just as Tony and Rhodey joined them, dragging over a couple more chairs to make it more of a cluster and less of a randomly scattered arrangement like it was before.

“-telling you, Tony, you should _ask_ before you go drawing up any plans.” Rhodey was insisting, mildly frustrated. It was obviously a very familiar emotion.

Tony waved him off. “There’s no point getting his hopes up if it’s not possible. Once I’ve figured that part out, I’ll ask him. I mean, I’ll have to. I can’t very well go making it without telling him, can I? He literally lives in my lab, Rhodey.” He reminded Rhodey in a rather patronising tone of voice.

“What are you going to ask JARVIS?” Peter asked, leaning around Wade to watch his dad.

“I was thinking, since he’s got a lover now, he’s probably going to want a more human-shaped body soon, right?” Tony began enthusiastically, making Rhodey groan. Clint narrowed his eyes at Tony, while Peter just went still, a little overcome by the enormity of the idea. “I mean, even putting aside sex, because J doesn’t have a sex drive, he’s bound to want to give her a hug at one point or another, right? Right! So. I figure, if Skye can craft an amulet that will connect to JARVIS wherever she happens to be, it can’t be too hard to make a bigger, human-shaped thing that can do the same, right?”

“Except the amulet needs skin contact to work.” Peter corrected, but he wasn’t shooting the idea down entirely. Not by a long shot. “So if you used the same spell on, say a statue, first of all JARVIS wouldn’t be able to move it because it would be solid stone, but secondly, it would only be active if Skye was touching it.”

“Exactly!” Tony agreed, nodding solemnly.

“Peter, don’t encourage him, please.” Rhodey begged.

Clint continued to glare at them. “I’m not sure I like the fact that you’re having this conversation. Please stop.” He said in perfect, suspicious deadpan.

“Suck it up, Barton.” Tony retorted, and ploughed on as though there hadn’t been an interruption. “I was thinking of using a suit of armour, spells of mobility and autonomy inside, like a golem but more streamlined. Then we’d just need to figure out an anchor and activation that went beyond skin contact. We could botch it and have a _moment_ of skin contact activate it, but then it would only last so long before snapping back on JARVIS and cutting him out, which would probably hurt. It would be best if we could work out a way for JARVIS to activate it himself, whenever he wants, but if it’s going to be autonomous, it can’t be hooked up to the castle like the doors and windows back home are.”

Peter’s head was spinning, but in a good way. “Unless you had a docking station that _was_ attached to the castle? With an activation and deactivation that’s triggered by contact _with Barzilai Castle_.” He suggested enthusiastically.

Tony started grinning. “Good point. Yes. Excellent. Now. _How_ do we do that?”

Half an hour later, Peter and Tony had roped Bruce and Jane into their project, and they’d ruined half a dozen tablecloths between them drawing out possible spells – more half of which had caught fire or disintegrated – with the pens Tony always kept on his person for exactly this reason. Peter had enlisted Gwen’s help in keeping Skye distracted, so she didn’t think to ask about what the four of them were up, or want in on whatever magic she thought they might be doing.

Of course, the fun had to come to an end eventually, and it happened when Darcy came over, Nick on her heels, both of them looking entertained, but just a little fed up. “Okay kids.” Darcy began, ignoring the fact that one of the people she was talking to was her own father. They all looked up at her from where their heads had been bent over their latest tablecloth victim. “Playtime’s over. I want my husband back. In case any of you missed it, this happens to be my wedding night, so I kind of need him to come help Nick peel me out of this ridiculous dress.”

Tony and Peter both pulled faces at that, while Bruce went an impressive shade of ruddy pink. Clearing his throat awkwardly, he got to his feet, not hesitating once to abandon the magic for Darcy and Nick. Not that Peter could really blame him that much. If it had been _his_ wedding night, and Matt and Wade had been looking at him all expectantly like that… Yeah, he wouldn’t have given half a thought to any unfinished spells that might blow up, either.

Suddenly realising what he was thinking, Peter ducked his head back over the tablecloth and frantically tried to remember where he’d been going with the spell in front of him. It didn’t work. He just stared at the half-finished sigil and failed at not imagining all sort of things he probably shouldn’t be thinking about in public.

“Stop blushing at your spellwork, kiddo,” Tony began, in tones of exasperation he was usually on the receiving end of, “and go do whatever it is that’s turning you that colour just thinking about it.” Peter’s head snapped up to blink at him, turning an even darker shade of red at being caught out. A little to the side, their spectators – namely Clint and Wade, both of whom had stayed to watch the explosions – both turned to stare at Tony as well. Tony either didn’t notice, or didn’t care. Peter was betting on the later. “Just don’t give me any details, okay?” Tony concluded, waving a stern finger at Peter.

Wade recovered first. “That sounds like a _great_ idea.” He decided brightly. “Come on, baby boy, let’s go find Matty and then we can-”

“I said no details!” Tony interrupted loudly. “Go on, now, shoo!”

“You’re a very odd father, you know.” Clint informed him, while Wade all but pounced on Peter, making him laugh and splutter as he was half knocked, half dragged out of his chair.

“Why, because I don’t freak out at the idea that my kids are, you know, people? And really quite likely to get up to at least some of the shit _I_ did when I was a teenager-slash-young-adult?” Tony retorted, unimpressed. He was also more focused on the angles he was trying to draw than Clint and their conversation.

“Okay, when you put it like that…” Clint muttered.

Peter didn’t hear if the conversation went any further, because at that point, Wade had dragged him out of earshot with an arm around his shoulders. “Matty!” Wade yelled, scanning the area for Matt. He was no longer sparring with Natasha – who had relocated to sit with Pepper and Phil – and he wasn’t immediately visible. “Come out, come out, wherever you aren’t! Maaa-”

Wade’s shout cut off abruptly, and he jerked in something like shock. Peter immediately went tense. “What is it?” He asked, looking up at Wade. His head was turned to the side, but before Peter could try to follow his gaze, he shook his head.

“Nothing. Just thought I saw… Never mind.” Wade replied.

Peter desperately wanted to press for a proper answer, but before he could, Matt appeared at his elbow, smiling faintly at them with an air of bemusement. “You don’t need to yell quite that loud, Wade. What is it?”

“We have parental blessing to get up to shenanigans.” Wade informed him, like the odd moment hadn’t even happened, his voice bright and bubbly and excited. “I, for one, am not going to pass up this golden opportunity. You shouldn’t, either. So lets go!” He threw his free arm over Matt’s shoulders, and the world turned blue around them.

* * *

The cloaked figure stayed on the edge of the lawn, hidden in the shadows of the trees. There was no reason for her to be there, Death had no hold in this place, but she had wanted to watch. To see. She wanted to study these people, who had brought the empire built in her honour to its knees and sent its architect into her embrace. They were… intriguing people.

Death liked them. Some more than others, perhaps, but she did. Holding a grudge was beyond her, so far removed from her nature as to be almost incomprehensible. She merely watched, and waited, and took what was hers when the time came. It had been Thanos’s time, as it had been so many others’ on that battlefield. And she appreciated, in her way, those who made an art of acting in her name, or those could deliver people unto her with conviction so strong in their hearts it savoured of faith.

Thanos had been good at that, but these people were better at it. As evidenced by the fact that they were celebrating here and he was tucked away, safe and sleeping, in her hollow chest. Just like all the rest were. Just like even these remarkable people would be, in time. Even those of them that thought themselves immortal would not – could not – outlive _Death_.

As if the thought had drawn his attention, in that moment, the man known as Wade Wilson glanced across the gathering and spotted her, standing there in the shadows. He stilled, watching, waiting, wary of her presence, here among those he’d chosen to share his battered heart with. She smiled for him, because there were many who held her favour but so very few who held her love, and blew him a kiss as she left.

The shadows swallowed her, her form dissolving into them as she left those remarkable people behind, in their warmth and their light, to celebrate and struggle and love as they would, for as long as they could. She would come for them, eventually, and grant them peace in her embrace. In the future, when warmth turned cold and lights faded to dark, she would come. For now, however, her work was elsewhere.


End file.
